These Are Days When No

Books, Too, Begin Like The Week – With A Day Of Rest In Memory Of Their Creation. The Preface Is Their Sunday.

Opinions Are A Private Matter. The Public Has An Interest Only In Judgments.

Living Substance Conquers The Frenzy Of Destruction Only In The Ecstasy Of Procreation.

Any Translation Which Intends To Perform A Transmitting Function Cannot Transmit Anything But Information-hence, Something Inessential. This Is The Hallmark Of Bad Translations.

Like Ultraviolet Rays Memory Shows To Each Man In The Book Of Life A Script That Invisibly And Prophetically Glosses The Text.