The Hunger Of The Spirit For Eternity

As Often As Not Our Whole Self...engages Itself In The Most Trivial Of Things, The Shape Of A Particular Hill, A Road In The Town In Which We Lived As Children, The Movement Of Wind In Grass. The Things We Shall Take With Us When We Die Will Nearly All Be Small Things.

Is It Really Beyond Our Wits To Devise Some Form Of Censorship Which Would Trap Only The Crudely Sadistic?

... I Used Words Without Precautions. I Wanted To Disappear Into Them, I Fled Into The Bovaryism Of The Writer Trying To Create An Effect.

One Of The Uncovenanted Benefits Of Living For A Long Time Is That, Having So Many More Dead Than Living Friends, Death Can Appear As A Step Backwards Into The Joyous Past.

Lord, If There Is A Heartache Vienna Cannot Cure I Hope Never To Feel It. I Came Home Cured Of Everything Except Vienna.