Frost In January Minus 20 For A

'we Live' Writes Pursewarden Somewhere 'lives Based Upon Selected Fictions. Our View Of Reality Is Conditioned By Our Position In Space And Time — Not By Our Personalities As We Like To Think. Thus Every Interpretation Oа Reality Is Based Upon A Unique Position. Two Paces East Or West And The Whole Picture Is Changed.

Science Is The Poetry Of The Intellect And Poetry The Science Of The Heart's Affections.

Perhaps Our Only Sickness Is To Desire A Truth Which We Cannot Bear Rather Than To Rest Content With The Fictions We Manufacture Out Of Each Other.

Poetry Is What Happens When An Anxiety Meets A Technique.

There Is No Pain Compared To That Of Loving A Woman Who Makes Her Body Accessible To One And Yet Who Is Incapable Of Delivering Her True Self -- Because She Does Not Know Where To Find It.