Desire Is No Light Thing.

We Humans Seem Disastrously In Love With This Thing (whatever It Is) That Glitters On The Earth-- We Call It Life.

We Participate In The Creation Of The World By Decreating Ourselves.

Pleasure And Pain At Once Register Upon The Lover, Inasmuch As The Desirability Of The Love Object Derives, In Part, From Its Lack. To Whom Is It Lacking? To The Lover. If We Follow The Trajectory Of Eros We Consistently Find It Tracing Out This Same Route: It Moves Out From The Lover Toward The Beloved, Then Ricochets Back To The Lover Himself And The Hole In Him, Unnoticed Before. Who Is The Subject Of Most Love Poems? Not The Beloved. It Is That Hole.

Making Is Always A Slightly Hopeful Thing Because Once You've Made Something, It'll - The World Will Be Different.

Aristotle Says That Metaphor Causes The Mind To Experience Itself In The Act Of Making A Mistake.