"A Witty Saying Proves Nothing."

Voltaire. He begat my personal motto as well as an industry of writing in defense of personal beliefs or lack thereof.
Thoreau. Penman of the naturalists' bible. He indulged in simplicity, and it was not an oxymoron.
Voltaire feeds my cynicism and reason. Thoreau nurtures the "flower child" and the dreamer in me. Where do they coincide?
Voltaire is my trumpets, fireworks, passion, purple majesty, logic, marble statues, scales, ink, bevy of paper and piano keys, footsteps in the courthouse, tongue-in-cheek, fires, wit, wrath, revolution, reason, conviction.
Thoreau is my green and gold, soft ferns, cold water, singing, river pebbles, cobblestones, pencil shavings, laughter, solitude, friends, fresh-cut firewood, arched eyebrows, calm, serenity, reality.
Now I'm off to decide what my personal philosphy is. Or, failing that, invent one.


"Sarah: 'It's not fair!'
Jareth: 'You say that so often, I wonder what your basis for comparison is.' "

-- G 'Bye, Sonya --

. ( 10.10.05 ) .