Only The Children Know What They Are

On A Day Of Burial There Is No Perspective--for Space Itself Is Annihilated. Your Dead Friend Is Still A Fragmentary Being. The Day You Bury Him Is A Day Of Chores And Crowds, Of Hands False Or True To Be Shaken, Of The Immediate Cares Of Mourning. The Dead Friend Will Not Really Die Until Tomorrow, When Silence Is Round You Again. Then He Will Show Himself Complete, As He Was--to Tear Himself Away, As He Was, From The Substantial You. Only Then Will You Cry Out Because Of Him Who Is Leaving And Whom You Cannot Detain.

The Thing That Is Important Is The Thing That Is Not Seen.

When We Think That The Machine Will Harm Man, Then It Is Perhaps Because We Are Not Yet Capable Of Judging The Rapid Changes It Has Brought About. We Hardly Feel At Home In This Landscape Of Mines And Power Stations. We Have Just Moved Into This New Home That We Have Not Even Finished Yet. Everything Around Us Has Changed So Fast - Personal Relations, Working Conditions, Habits. Even Our State Of Mind Is In Turmoil.

The Notion Of Looking On At Life Has Always Been Hateful To Me. What Am I If I Am Not A Participant? In Order To Be, I Must Participate.

One Must Observe The Proper Rites.