There Is No Beyond, There

Art Is A Kind Of Artificial Memory And The Pain Which Attends All Serious Art Is A Sense Of That Factitiousness.

... Half The World Starves. What A Planet. And The Eating, If You're Lucky Enough To Do Any. Stuffing Pieces Of Dead Animals Into A Hole In Your Face. Then Munch, Munch, Munch. If There's Anybody Watching, They Must Be Dying Of Laughter.

Possibly, More People Kill Themselves And Others Out Of Hurt Vanity Than Out Of Envy, Jealousy, Malice Or Desire For Revenge.

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.

Falling Out Of Love Is Very Enlightening. For A Short While You See The World With New Eyes.