There was once a man who possessed two animals,
both of which were but partially tame,
and, while one of them silently threatened him physically,
the other one would make noises and somehow make him feel bad.

There are three types of guilt: two routine, the other, not:
one is the type you assume from others,
second is the type that comes with hormonal decline,
and third is a nonstandard type that arises only from one's own efforts at the heroic.
They apologize most who imaginarily trip.

A certain warrior so instructed his son: "It's not enough for you not to talk about you,
but you must also turn deaf to others doing so."
(...And further note: a man's own thinking is his greatest source of such comment.)

There is no published standard by which a more conscious person should live
each must discover his own.
(Though, they all turn out to be glaringly similar.)

The keen eye does not have to look to magic,
nor the explanations of magic,
to find the miraculous in life,
but rather to the normally unnoticed patterns that are the very fabric of life.
Molecular similarities produce wonder in the first degree.

In his pondering of "proverbial wisdom," one man came to see a fresh interpretation of the axiom
"we are what we eat" to mean that men are what they think -- and what they think is based on how they feel -- and how they feel can sure have a lot to do with what they've recently had to eat.

The older areas of man's nervous system seek acceptance and companionship,
while the younger warrior, on his own path, pushes forward in solitude.

A student of the law,
in considering the history of vagrancy statutes
(whereby established communities sought to keep out transients
with no investment in local affairs, who they considered undesirable),
reflected on a similar situation within men's minds
in how already-accepted ideas resist the intrusion of new -- especially footloose ones.