Memory Is The Happiness Of

Because Of Fear, They Made Shelter And Found Food And Grew Things. For The Same Reason, Weapons Were Stored, Waiting.

Always In The Dream, It Seemed As If There Were A Destination: A Something--he Could Not Grasp What-that Lay Beyond The Place Where The Thickness Of Snow Brought The Sled To A Stop. He Was Left, Upon Awakening, With The Feeling That He Wanted, Even Somehow Needed, To Reach The Something That Waited In The Distance. The Feeling That It Was Good. That It Was Welcoming. That It Was Significant. But He Did Not Know How To Get There.

He Wept, And It Felt As If The Tears Were Cleansing Him, As If His Body Needed To Empty Itself.

You Eat Canned Tuna Fish And You Absorb Protein. Then, If You're Lucky, Someone Give You Dover Sole And You Experience Nourishment. It's The Same With Books.

She Fell Asleep, And It Was A Sleep As Thin As The Night Clouds, Dotted With Dreams That Came And Went Like The Stars.