The Mode Of Consciousness Of

Truth Is Not Spoken In Anger. Truth Is Spoken, If It Ever Comes To Be Spoken, In Love. The Gaze Of Love Is Not Deluded. It Sees What Is Best In The Beloved Even When What Is Best In The Beloved Finds It Hard To Emerge Into The Light.

We Must Cultivate, All Of Us, A Certain Ignorance, A Certain Blindness, Or Society Will Not Be Tolerable.

In Its Conception The Literature Prize Belongs To Days When A Writer Could Still Be Thought Of As, By Virtue Of His Or Her Occupation, A Sage, Someone With No Institutional Affiliations Who Could Offer An Authoritative Word On Our Times As Well As On Our Moral Life.

I See No Marks Of Wordsworths Style Of Writing Or Style Of Thinking In My Own Work, Yet Wordsworth Is A Constant Presence When I Write About Human Beings And Their Relations To The Natural World.

Artists No Longer Starve In Garrets. Some People May Think This Is Not Wholly A Good Thing, That Being An Artist Has Become Too Comfortable, At Least In The West. I'm Not Sure I Agree. It's A Mark Of Civilization To Encourage The Arts And The Life Of The Mind.