Sitting makes us think of standingOur current stance keeps on demanding We wish to fly without the wings Puppets move before pulling the strings
Mom, said Peter, nobody thinks you're a lackwit, if that's what you're worried about.Lackwit? In what musty drawer of some dead English professor's dust-covered desk did you find that word? I assure y...
Money is the string with which a sardonic destiny directs the motions of its puppets.
Death is a release from the impressions of the senses, and from desires that make us their puppets, and from the vagaries of the mind, and from the hard service of the flesh.