We Live In A Fantasy

There Is A Spider Called Amaurobius, Which Lives In A Burrow And Has Its Young In The Late Summer, And Then It Dies When The Frosts Begin, And The Young Spiders Live Through The Cold By Eating Their Mother's Dead Body. One Can't Believe That's An Accident. I Don't Know That I Imagined God As Having Thought It All Out, But Somehow He Was Connected With The Pattern, He Was The Pattern.

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

Man's Creative Struggle, His Search For Wisdom And Truth, Is A Love Story.

Until I Have Been Able To Bury My Head So Deep In Dear London That I Can Forget That I Have Ever Been Away I Am Inconsolable.

Music Relates Sound And Time And So Pictures The Ultimate Edges Of Human Commmunications.