I am not Rimbaud to tell you great words; I am not Verlaine to tell you poems; I am just myself... I was born to learn, to grow, to expand, to love, to create, to enjoy, to see the beauty in all things including myself... But I was NOT born to be perfect. When I examine myself and my methods of thought, I come to the conclusion that the gift of fantasy has meant more to me than any talent for abstract, positive thinking. I prefer to be true to myself, even at the hazard of incurring the ridicule of others, rather than to be false, and to incur my own abhorrence. A hundred times every day I remind myself that my inner and outer life depend on the labors of other men, living and dead, and that