The Earth, Like The Sun,

The Author: An Imaginary Person Who Writes Real Books.

Those Art Lovers Who Pride Themselves Mostly On *taste* Usually Possess No Other Talent.

A Man Without Passion Would Be Like A Body Without A Soul. Or Even More Grotesque, Like A Soul Without A Body.

At Some Point We Must Draw A Line Across The Ground Of Our Home And Our Being, Drive A Spear Into The Land And Say To The Bulldozers, Earthmovers, Government And Corporations, "thus Far And No Further." If We Do Not, We Shall Later Feel, Instead Of Pride, The Regret Of Thoreau, That Good But Overly-bookish Man, Who Wrote, Near The End Of His Life, "if I Repent Of Anything It Is Likely To Be My Good Behaviour.

If The World Is Irrational, We Can Never Know It -- Either It Or Its Irrationality.