My Heart Was Beating Like An Army

Socrates Wrote Nothing. Christ Wrote Nothing.

Evil Soon Makes Tools Out Of Those Who Don't Hate It.

Every Human Soul Has Seen, Perhaps Before Their Birth, Pure Forms Such As Justice, Temperance, Beauty And All The Great Moral Qualities Which We Hold In Honour. We Are Moved Towards What Is Good By The Faint Memory Of These Forms, Simple And Calm And Blessed, Which We Saw Once In A Pure, Clear Light, Being Pure Ourselves.

We Re All Muddlers. The Thing Is To See Is When One's Got To Stop Muddling.

Starting A Novel Is Opening A Door On A Misty Landscape; You Can Still See Very Little But You Can Smell The Earth And Feel The Wind Blowing.