A Language Is A More Ancient And

In The End, Like The Almighty Himself, We Make Everything In Our Image, For Want Of A More Reliable Model; Our Artifacts Tell More About Ourselves Than Our Confessions.

Twentieth-century Russian Literature Has Produced Nothing Special Except Perhaps One Novel And Two Stories By Andrei Platonov, Who Ended His Days Sweeping Streets.

I Don't Want To Dive Into That Mud Slide, Which Is What I Consider The Literary Process.

What Concerns Me Is That Man, Unable To Articulate, To Express Himself Adequately, Reverts To Action. Since The Vocabulary Of Action Is Limited, As It Were, To His Body, He Is Bound To Act Violently, Extending His Vocabulary With A Weapon Where There Should Have Been An Adjective.

When The Eye Fails To Find Beauty-alias Solace-it Commands The Body To Create It, Or, Failing That, Adjusts Itself To Perceive Virtue In Ugliness.