I Am Unlikely To Trust A Sentence

Works Of Art Are Meant To Be Lived With And Loved, And If We Try To Understand Them, We Should Try To Understand Them As We Try To Understand Anyone — In Order To Know Them Better, Not In Order To Know Something Else.

We Must Take Our Sentences Seriously, Which Means We Must Understand Them Philosophically, And The Odd Thing Is That The Few Who Do, Who Take Them With Utter Sober Seriousness, The Utter Sober Seriousness Of Right-wing Parsons And Political Saviors, The Owners Of Pomeranians, Are The Liars Who Want To Be Believed, The Novelists And Poets, Who Know That The Creatures They Imagine Have No Other Being Than The Sounding Syllables Which The Reader Will Speak Into His Own Weary And Distracted Head. There Are No Magic Words. To Say The Words Is Magical Enough.

Words [are] More Beautiful Than A Found Fall Leaf.

What One Wants To Do With Stories Is Screw Them Up.

Only The Slow Reader Will Notice The Odd Crowd Of Images-flier, Butcher, Seal-which Have Gathered To Comment On The Aims And Activities Of The Speeding Reader, Perhaps Like Gossips At A Wedding.