God Knows How Many Things A Man

It Is Frequently The Tragedy Of The Great Artist For Example Vincent Van Gogh, As It Is Of The Great Scientist, That He Frightens The Ordinary Man. If He Is More Than A Popular Story-teller It May Take Humanity A Generation To Absorb And Grow Accustomed To The New Geography With Which The Scientist Or Artist Presents Us. Even Then, Perhaps Only The More Imaginative And Literate May Accept Him. Subconsciously The Genius Is Feared As An Image Breaker; Frequently He Does Not Accept The Opinions Of The Mass, Or Man's Opinion Of Himself.

Some Degree Of Withdrawal Serves To Nurture Man's Creative Powers. The Artist And The Scientist Bring Out Of The Dark Void, Like The Mysterious Universe Itself, The Unique, The Strange, The Unexpected. Numerous Observers Have Testified Upon The Loneliness Of The Process.

Without The Gift Of Flowers And The Infinite Diversity Of Their Fruits, Man And Bird, If They Had Continued To Exist At All, Would Be Today Unrecognizable.

Nothing Grows Among Its Pinnacles; There Is No Shade Except Under Great Toadstools Of Sandstone Whose Bases Have Been Eaten To The Shape Of Wine Glasses By The Wind. Everything Is Flaking, Cracking, Disintegrating, Wearing Away In The Long, Inperceptible Weather Of Time. The Ash Of Ancient Volcanic Outbursts Still Sterilizes Its Soil, And Its Colors In That Waste Are The Colors That Flame In The Lonely Sunsets On Dead Planets.

Life, Unlike The Inanimate, Will Take The Long Way Round To Circumvent Barrenness. A Kind Of Desperate Will Resides Even In A Root.