Imagination At Wit's End Spreads Its Sad

Words And Images Run Riot In My Head, Pursuing, Flying, Clashing, Merging, Endlessly. But Beyond This Tumult There Is A Great Calm, And A Great Indifference, Never Really To Be Troubled By Anything Again.

The Creation Of The World Did Not Take Place Once And For All Time, But Takes Place Every Day.

He Who Has Waited Long Enough, Will Wait Forever. And There Comes The Hour When Nothing More Can Happen And Nobody More Can Come And All Is Ended But The Waiting That Knows Itself In Vain.

To Have Been Always What I Am - And So Changed From What I Was.

So All Things Limp Together For The Only Possible.