The More Uncertain I Have

Understanding Does Not Cure Evil, But It Is A Definite Help, Inasmuch As One Can Cope With A Comprehensible Darkness.

All My Writings May Be Considered Tasks Imposed From Within, Their Source Was A Fateful Compulsion. What I Wrote Were Things That Assailed Me From Within Myself. I Permitted The Spirit That Moved Me To Speak Out.

The Right Way To Wholeness Is Made Up Of Fateful Detours And Wrong Turnings.

Shrinking Away From Death Is Something Unhealthy And Abnormal Which Robs The Second Half Of Life Of Its Purpose.

At Times I Feel As If I Am Spread Out Over The Landscape And Inside Things, And Am Myself Living In Every Tree, In The Plashing Of The Waves, In The Clouds And The Animals That Come And Go, In The Procession Of The Seasons.