Evil Soon Makes Tools Out Of Those

Almost Any Tale Of Our Doings Is Comic. We Are Bottomlessly Comic To Each Other. Even The Most Adored And Beloved Person Is Comic To His Lover. The Novel Is A Comic Form. Language Is A Comic Form, And Makes Jokes In Its Sleep. God, If He Existed, Would Laugh At His Creation. Yet It Is Also The Case That Life Is Horrible, Without Metaphysical Sense, Wrecked By Chance, Pain And The Close Prospect Of Death. Out Of This Is Born Irony, Our Dangerous And Necessary Tool.

Every Human Soul Has Seen, Perhaps Before Their Birth, Pure Forms Such As Justice, Temperance, Beauty And All The Great Moral Qualities Which We Hold In Honour. We Are Moved Towards What Is Good By The Faint Memory Of These Forms, Simple And Calm And Blessed, Which We Saw Once In A Pure, Clear Light, Being Pure Ourselves.

You Cannot Have Both Truth And What You Call Civilisation.

There Is No Substitute For The Comfort Supplied By The Utterly Taken-for-granted Relationship.

Education Doesn’t Make You Happy. Nor Does Freedom. We Don’t Become Happy Just Because We’re Free – If We Are. Or Because We’ve Been Educated – If We Have. But Because Education May Be The Means By Which We Realize We Are Happy. It Opens Our Eyes, Our Ears, Tells Us Where Delights Are Lurking, Convinces Us That There Is Only One Freedom Of Any Importance Whatsoever, That Of The Mind, And Gives Us The Assurance – The Confidence – To Walk The Path Our Mind, Our Educated Mind, Offers.