There Are Always A Few Who Stand

When I Write A Word In English, A Simple One, Such As, Say, 'chief,' I Have Unwittingly Ushered A Querulous Horde Into The Room. The Roman Legionary Is There, Shaking His 'cap,' Or Head, And Al Cap Is There, Slouching In His Signature Working Man's Headgear.

Sometimes I Want To Have A Mental Book Burning That Would Scour My Mind Clean Of All The Filthy Visions Literature Has Conjured There. But How To Do Without 'the Illiad?' How To Do Without 'macbeth?

And At This Moment In History, Our Core Value Happens To Be The Raw, Aching Truth Of The Human Predicament. It May Also Be The Only Belief That Can Save Us As A Species. A Species That Will Continue To Find Comfort And Delight In The Companionship Of Animals, The Miracle Of Birds, The Colours Of The Corals And The Majesty Of The Forests. We Are In It Together, On This Blue Spinning Marble In The Cold And Silent Void. And We Must Act On That Belief, If We Are Going To Be Able To Continue To Live A Good Life Here, In This Beautiful And Fragile Country, On This Lovely Planet, Our Only Home.

Moral Certainty Can Deafen People To Any Truth Other Than Their Own.

I Swim In A Sea Of Words. They Flow Around Me And Through Me And, By A Process That Is Not Fully Clear To Me, Some Delicate Hidden Membrane Draws Forth The Stuff That Is The Necessary Condition Of My Life.