Lucky Is The Man Who Does Not

Have You Noticed That Only In Time Of Illness Or Disaster Or Death Are People Real? I Remember At The Time Of The Wreck-- People Were So Kind And Helpful And Solid. Everyone Pretended That Our Lives Until That Moment Had Been Every Bit As Real As The Moment Itself And That The Future Must Be Real Too, When The Truth Was That Our Reality Had Been Purchased Only By Lyell's Death. In Another Hour Or So We Had All Faded Out Again And Gone Our Dim Ways.

What Needs To Be Discharged Is The Intolerable Tenderness Of The Past, The Past Gone And Grieved Over And Never Made Sense Of. Music Ransoms Us From The Past, Declares An Amnesty, Brackets And Sets Aside The Old Puzzles. Sing A New Song. Start A New Life, Get A Girl, Look Into Her Shadowy Eyes, Smile.

Jews Wait For The Lord, Protestants Sing Hymns To Him, Catholics Say Mass And Eat Him.

Hatred Strikes Me As One Of The Few Signs Of Life Remaining In The World. This Is Another Thing About The World Which Is Upsidedown: All The Friendly And Likable People Seem Dead To Me; Only The Haters Seem Alive.

If I Had The Choice Of Knowing The Truth Or Searching For The Truth, I'd Take The Search.