Existence is Identity, Consciousness is Identification.

The yard was full of tomato plants about to ripen, and mint, mint, everything smelling of mint, and one fine old tree that I loved to sit under on those cool perfect starry California October nights unmatched anywhere in the world.

When they dreamed of turning iron and metal into gold, they called it alchemy. The much more far-fetched dream of turning bound sheafs of plain paper into fortunes, they call publishing,

If Heaven had looked upon riches to be a valuable thing, it would not have given them to such a scoundrel.

Written By Jonathan Swift

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