Love Is The Last And

Art Is Not Cozy And It Is Not Mocked. Art Tells The Only Truth That Ultimately Matters. It Is The Light By Which Human Things Can Be Mended. And After Art There Is, Let Me Assure You All, Nothing.

We Are Such Inward Secret Creatures, That Inwardness The Most Amazing Thing About Us, Even More Amazing Than Our Reason. But We Cannot Just Walk Into The Cavern And Look Around. Most Of What We Think We Know About Our Minds Is Pseudo-knowledge. We Are All Such Shocking Poseurs, So Good At Inflating The Importance Of What We Think We Value.

Reading And Writing And The Preservation Of Language And Its Forms And The Kind Of Eloquence And The Kind Of Beauty Which The Language Is Capable Of Is Terribly Important To The Human Beings Because This Is Connected To Thought.

Perhaps When Distant People On Other Planets Pick Up Some Wavelength Of Ours All They Hear Is A Continuous Scream.

Those Who Hope, By Retiring From The World, To Earn A Holiday From Human Frailty, In Themselves And Others, Are Usually Disappointed.