I´m A Stranger In A Strange Land.

All Men Are Lonely. But Sometimes It Seems To Me That We Americans Are The Loneliest Of All. Our Hunger For Foreign Places And New Ways Has Been With Us Almost Like A National Disease. Our Literature Is Stamped With A Quality Of Longing And Unrest, And Our Writers Have Been Great Wanderers.

Sometimes This Fellow's Music Was Like Little Colored Pieces Of Crystal Candy, And Other Times It Was The Softest, Saddest Thing She Had Ever Imagined About.

There Are Those Who Know And Those Who Don't Know. And For Every Ten Thousand Who Don't Know There's Only One Who Knows. That's The Miracle Of All Time--the Fact That These Millions Know So Much But Don't Know This.

What Are The Sources Of An Illumination? To Me, They Come After Hours Of Searching And Keeping My Soul Ready. Yet They Come In A Flash, As A Religious Phenomenon. The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter Had Such An Illumination, Beginning My Long Search For The Truth Of The Story And Flashing Light Into The Long Two Years Ahead.

The People Dreamed And Fought And Slept As Much As Ever. And By Habit They Shortened Their Thoughts So That They Would Not Wander Out Into The Darkness Beyond Tomorrow.