He Felt Changed, But There

I Did A Lot Of My Writing As Though I Was An Academic, Doing Some Piece Of Research As Perfectly As Possible.

That Is Human Nature, That People Come After You, Willingly Enough, Provided Only That You No Longer Love Or Want Them.

Art Does Not Exist For Politics, Or For Instruction- It Exists Primarily For Pleasure, Or It Is Nothing.

...it Is Not Possible To Create The Opposite Of What One Has Always Known, Simply Because The Opposite Is Believed To Be Desired. Human Beings Need What They Already Know, Even Horrors.

He Was Beautiful, That Was Always Affirmed, But His Beauty Was Hard To Fix Or To See, For He Was Always Glimmering, Flickering, Melting, Mixing, He Was The Shape Of A Shapeless Flame, He Was The Eddying Thread Of Needle-shapes In The Shapeless Mass Of The Waterfall. He Was The Invisible Wind That Hurried The Clouds In Billows And Ribbons. You Could See A Bare Tree On The Skyline Bent By The Wind, Holding Up Twisted Branches And Bent Twigs, And Suddenly Its Formless Form Would Resolve Itself Into That Of The Trickster.