I See No Reason For

Everything I Have Written Is The Result Of Reading Or Of Interest In People.

When We Think We Don't Like Art It Is Because It Is Artificial Art.

The Ocean, Under The Pulsation Of Lighthouses And Noise Of Bell Buoys, Advances As Usual, Looking As If It Were Not That Ocean In Which Dropped Things Are Bound To Sink-- In Which If They Turn And Twist, It Is Neither With Volition Nor Consciousness.

The Deepest Feeling Always Shows Itself In Silence.

The Weak Overcomes Its/ Menace, The Strong Over-/comes Itself.