Every Book Is The Wreck Of A

All Artists Dream Of A Silence Which They Must Enter, As Some Creatures Return To The Sea To Spawn.

Socrates Wrote Nothing. Christ Wrote Nothing.

The Sending Of A Letter Constitutes A Magical Grasp Upon The Future.

In A Happy Marriage There Is A Continuous Dense Magnetic Sense Of Communication.

Yes, Of Course, There's Something Fishy About Describing People's Feelings. You Try Hard To Be Accurate, But As Soon As You Start To Define Such And Such A Feeling, Language Lets You Down. It's Really A Machine For Making Falsehoods. When We Really Speak The Truth, Words Are Insufficient. Almost Everything Except Things Like "pass The Gravy" Is A Lie Of A Sort. And That Being The Case, I Shall Shut Up. Oh, And... Pass The Gravy.