Blue Is Therefore Most Suitable As The

We Must Take Our Sentences Seriously, Which Means We Must Understand Them Philosophically, And The Odd Thing Is That The Few Who Do, Who Take Them With Utter Sober Seriousness, The Utter Sober Seriousness Of Right-wing Parsons And Political Saviors, The Owners Of Pomeranians, Are The Liars Who Want To Be Believed, The Novelists And Poets, Who Know That The Creatures They Imagine Have No Other Being Than The Sounding Syllables Which The Reader Will Speak Into His Own Weary And Distracted Head. There Are No Magic Words. To Say The Words Is Magical Enough.

Blue Is Therefore Most Suitable As The Color Of Interior Life.

Works Of Art Are Meant To Be Lived With And Loved, And If We Try To Understand Them, We Should Try To Understand Them As We Try To Understand Anyone — In Order To Know Them Better, Not In Order To Know Something Else.

It’s Not The Word Made Flesh We Want In Writing, In Poetry And Fiction, But The Flesh Made Word

I Am Firmly Of The Opinion That People Who Can’t Speak Have Nothing To Say. It’s One More Thing We Do To The Poor, The Deprived: Cut Out Their Tongues … Allow Them A Language As Lousy As Their Life