I Confess That I Do Not See

We Were Always Loyal To Lost Causes...success For Us Is The Death Of The Intellect And Of The Imagination. ~ Professor Machugh

The Supreme Question About A Work Of Art Is Out Of How Deep A Life Does It Spring.

God Made Food; The Devil The Cooks.

He Comes Into The World God Knows How, Walks On The Water, Gets Out Of His Grave And Goes Up Off The Hill Of Howth. What Drivel Is This?

And If He Had Judged Her Harshly? If Her Life Were A Simple Rosary Of Hours, Her Life Simple And Strange As A Bird's Life, Gay In The Morning, Restless All Day, Tired At Sundown? Her Heart Simple And Willful As A Bird's Heart?