Oh, Let Me Be Mawkish For The

It Is Certainly Not Then-not In Dreams- But When One Is Wide Awake, At Moments Of Robust Joy And Achievement, On The Highest Terrace Of Consciousness, That Mortality Has A Chance To Peer Beyond Its Own Limits, From The Mast, From The Past And Its Castle Tower. And Although Nothing Much Can Be Seen Through The Mist, There Is Somehow The Blissful Feeling That One Is Looking In The Right Direction.

Why Do Those People Guess So Much And Shave So Little, And Are So Disdainful Of Hearing Aids?

Use Unlikely Materials. Who Would Choose Pnin As Hero, But How Did We Live Before Pnin?

Time Is Rhythm: The Insect Rhythm Of A Warm Humid Night, Brain Ripple, Breathing, The Drum In My Temple—these Are Our Faithful Timekeepers; And Reason Corrects The Feverish Beat.

The Only Real Number Is One, The Rest Are Mere Repetition