My dear, No matter what they tell you, love is not a cure. Love will not heal you, it will not mend or fix it. Love is poison. Love is the sweetest tasting of all poisons. And Nature’s joke on us is that it’s a poison that’s only curable by drinking more of it. There is no remedy for love but to love more. There is no remedy for love, it is a poison; one I’d gladly surrender my life to. Falsely yours, Henry David...

My dear, The millions are awake enough for physical labor; but only one in a million is awake enough for effective intellectual exertion, only one in a hundred million to the poetic or divine life. To be awake is to be alive. I have never yet met a man who was quite awake. How could I have looked him in the face? How could I dareth meet a man on an equal level? How could I, one still partially tired and asleep look into eyes devoid of it...

My dear, Many men go fishing all of their lives without knowing that it is not fish they are after. They fish and fish, before realizing they are actually wood-smiths. They fish and fish, before realizing they are actually word-smiths…. They fish and fish before realizing that they do not want to fish. They learn too late that they’d rather follow their own hearts that fish. My dear, replace fish with work and you’ll see...

My dear, Do not catalog me upon “the mass of men”. They wait, and hope, and pray that someday they will… Sadly that’s about it. They wait, forgetting that nothing comes to those that wait. They hope, forgetting that hope requires action. And they pray, forgetting that prayer requires preparation. And so they wait. Clenching their heavy hearts, overwhelmed by life… Suffering quietly. After all, no one else must...