I Think The Names Of Colors Are

You Know, It's A Truism That Writers For Children Must Still Be Children Themselves, Deep Down, Must Still Feel Childish Feelings, And A Child's Surprise At The World.

It's A Terrible Poison, Writing.

She Was A Logical Child, As Far As Children Go. She Did Not Understand How Such A Nice, Kind, Good God As The One They Preyed To, Could Condemn The Whole Earth For Sinfulness And Flood It, Or Condemn His Only Son To A Disgusting Death On Behalf Of Everyone. This Death Did Not Seem To Have Done Much Good.

A Beautiful Woman, Simone Weil Said, Seeing Herself In The Mirror, Knows "this Is I." An Ugly Woman Knows With Equal Certainty, "this Is Not I." Maud Knew This Neat Division Represented An Over-simplification. The Doll-mask She Saw Had Nothing To Do With Her, Nothing.

Art Does Not Exist For Politics, Or For Instruction- It Exists Primarily For Pleasure, Or It Is Nothing.