One Feels A Quickening Of The Pulse

Fantasies Are More Than Substitutes For Unpleasant Reality; They Are Also Dress Rehearsals, Plans. All Acts Performed In The World Begin In The Imagination.

We Are All Proprietary Toward Cities We Love. 'ah, You Should Have Seen Her When I Loved Her!' We Say, Reciting Glories Since Faded Or Defiled, Trusting Her To No One Else; That Others Should Know And Love Her In Her Present Fallen State (for She Must Fall Without Our Vigilant Love) Is A Species Of Betrayal.

In The Face Of Evil, Detachment Is A Dubious Virtue.

Grief Does Not End And Love Does Not Die And Nothing Fills Its Graven Place. With Grace, Pain Is Transmuted Into The Gold Of Wisdom And Compassion And The Lesser Coin Of Muted Sadness And Resignation; But Something Leaden Of It Remains, To Become The Kernel Arond Which More Pain Accretes (a Black Pearl): One Pain Becomes Every Other Pain ... Unless One Strips Away, One By One, The Layers Of Pain To Get To The Heart Of The Pain - And This Causes More Pain, Pain So Intense As To Feel Like Evisceration.

Illness Is Regarded As A Crime, And Crime Is Regarded As Illness.