Real Misery Cuts Off All Paths To

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

Art Is Brief. (not In A Temporal Sense.) [...] Words Are For Concealment. Art Is Concealment.

Art Is The Final Cunning Of The Human Soul Which Would Rather Do Anything Than Face The Gods.

There Is A Spider Called Amaurobius, Which Lives In A Burrow And Has Its Young In The Late Summer, And Then It Dies When The Frosts Begin, And The Young Spiders Live Through The Cold By Eating Their Mother's Dead Body. One Can't Believe That's An Accident. I Don't Know That I Imagined God As Having Thought It All Out, But Somehow He Was Connected With The Pattern, He Was The Pattern.

Happiness Is A Matter Of One's Most Ordinary Everyday Mode Of Consciousness Being Busy And Lively And Unconcerned With Self.