Here Then Is The Pattern In My

Here Then Is The Pattern In My Carpet, The Sense Of The Eternal Mysteries, The Eternal Beauty Hidden Beneath The Crust Of Common And Commonplace Things; Hidden And Yet Burning And Glowing Continually If You Care To Look With Purged Eyes.

It Was Better, He Thought, To Fail In Attempting Exquisite Things Than To Succeed In The Department Of The Utterly Contemptible.

There Are Certain Scenes, Certain Hills And Valleys And Groves Of Pines Which Demand That A Story Shall Be Written About Them. I Would Refine; I Would Say That The Emotions Aroused By These External Things Reverberating In The Heart Are Indeed The Story; Or All That Signifies The Story....we Translate A Hill Into A Tale, Conceive Lovers To Explain A Brook, Turn The Perfect Into The Imperfect.

I Dream In Fire But Work In Clay.

For, Usually And Fitly, The Presence Of An Introduction Is Held To Imply That There Is Something Of Consequence And Importance To Be Introduced.