Years ago in France, as I watched a potter at work, he asked me if I would like to try my hand at making something. So I took a lump of clay, wet my hands, shaped the clay and threw it against the wheel. As it began to turn, I pressed my hand against the clay and it rose up into a pillar. Then I put my finger into the middle and made an opening.

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In Tibet, the government used to be a theocracy and the ruler was the Grand Lama. When he died, it was believed that his spirit entered into a boy baby who was born at the very instant of the lama's death. The high priests of the religion cast horoscopes, wandered over the land and pounced upon a child whom they declare to be the Grand Lama. The choice might be a boy living in filth, in a herdsman's tent, far removed from any culture or education. In an instant this child, with matted hair and filthy body, was declared the Grand Lama of Tibet.

The great Italian sculptor, Benvenuto Cellini, told of receiving a vast block of marble with one flaw. Because of this flaw, no artist would submit a design - except one. In the public square of Florence a fence was built around that piece of marble, and a little shack was erected for the artist. For two years the sculptor labored; then the fence was torn down, and the shack was taken away.

A balloon cannot ascend as long as a single rope binds it to its moorings. If every cord but one is cut, it may struggle, but it cannot rise. Not until the knife severs the final stay will it arise. Nor does it ascend of itself. It would remain as heavy and inert as the earth beneath it were it not for the gas within it.