Could I Make You Believe Something That

We're All Immortal Until We Die.

She Lifted Her Head. "it's Easier," She Said, Slowly, "to Be Angry On Someone Else's Behalf Than On My Own. And Yet I Find I Have A Well Of Anger In Me, That I Have Been Filling For Years From My Own Hurts. If I Spill It Out In Defense Of Another, I Can Deny It's Mine.

To Those Who See The Magical Surface Of Things, You Are Invisible.' Good Grief. Will You Still Be Able To See Me?' He Met Her Eyes In A Way That Made Her Shiver Pleasantly. 'i See You In A Great Many Ways. It Would Be Hard To Blind Me In All Of Them.

It Occurs To Me To Wonder: Do I Believe In Any God, Or Even Positively Not Believe, As James Does? I Believe In Systems And Methods. I Believe In The Beauties Of Philosophy And Poetry. I Believe That The Work We Do And Leave Behind Us Is Our Afterlife; And I Believe That History Lies, But Sometimes So Well That I Can't Bring Myself To Resent It. I Believe That Truth Is Beauty, But Not, I'm Afraid, The Reverse. It Doesn't Seem Sufficient To Sustain One In Life's Rigorous Moments. Perhaps I Shall Embrace Islam. Its Standards For Poetry Seem Very High.

Is Negative Space The Space You Don't Like, Or The Space That Is Not There? And If It's Not There How Can You Tell?