I Love Forms Beyond My Own, And

Every Time We Walk Along A Beach Some Ancient Urge Disturbs Us So That We Find Ourselves Shedding Shoes And Garments Or Scavenging Among Seaweed And Whitened Timbers Like The Homesick Refugees Of A Long War... Mostly The Animals Understand Their Roles, But Man, By Comparison, Seems Troubled By A Message That, It Is Often Said, He Cannot Quite Remember Or Has Gotten Wrong... Bereft Of Instinct, He Must Search Continually For Meanings... Man Was A Reader Before He Became A Writer, A Reader Of What Coleridge Once Called The Mighty Alphabet Of The Universe.

The Great Artist, Whether He Be Musician, Painter, Or Poet, Is Known For This Absolute Unexpectedness.

It Has Been Said Repeatedly That One Can Never, Try As He Will, Get Around To The Front Of The Universe. Man Is Destined To See Only Its Far Side, To Realize Nature Only In Retreat.

The Need Is Not Really For More Brains, The Need Is Now For A Gentler, A More Tolerant People Than Those Who Won For Us Against The Ice, The Tiger And The Bear. The Hand That Hefted The Ax, Out Of Some Old Blind Allegiance To The Past Fondles The Machine Gun As Lovingly. It Is A Habit Man Will Have To Break To Survive, But The Roots Go Very Deep.

When The Human Mind Exists In The Light Of Reason And No More Than Reason, We May Say With Absolute Certainty That Man And All That Made Him Will Be In That Instant Gone.