It's Not A Man's Working Hours That

This Is Not To Say That Joy Is A Compensation For Loss, But That Each Of Them, Joy And Loss, Exists In Its Own Right And Must Be Recognised For What It Is ... So Joy Can Be Joy And Sorrow Can Be Sorrow, With Neither Of Them Casting Either Light Or Shadow On The Other.

I Think To The Degree Writers Are Serious, There Is A Greater Tendency For Them To Write To Themselves, Because They're Trying To Compose Their Own Thoughts. They Are Trying To Find Out What Is In Their Minds, Which Is The Great Mystery. Finding Out Who You Are, What Is In Your Head, And What Kind Of Companion You Are To Yourself In The Course Of Life. I Do Think People Have Very Profound Lives Of Which They Say Virtually Nothing.

I Think The Attempt To Defend Belief Can Unsettle It, In Fact, Because There Is Always An Inadequacy In Argument About Ultimate Things.

Ascension Seemed At Such Times A Natural Law. If One Added To It A Law Of Completion - That Everything Must Finally Be Made Comprehensible - Then Some General Rescue Of The Sort I Imagined My Aunt To Have Undertaken Would Be Inevitable. For Why Do Our Thoughts Turn To Some Gesture Of A Hand, The Fall Of A Sleeve, Some Corner Of A Room On A Particular Anonymous Afternoon, Even When We Are Asleep, And Even When We Are So Old That Our Thoughts Have Abandoned Other Business? What Are All These Fragments For , If Not To Be Knit Up Finally?

One Of The Things That Is Wonderful About Hymns Is That They Are A Sort Of Universally Shared Poetry, At Least Among Certain Populations. There Isn't Much Of That Anymore Either. There Are Very Few Poems People Can Recite, But There Are Quite A Few Hymns That, If You Hum A Few Bars, People Can At Least Come Up With Two Verses. Many Of The Older Hymns Are Very Beautiful.