Slowly, Very Slowly, Like Two Unhurried Compass

A Whole Population Of Strangers Inhabited And Shaped That Little Body, Lived In That Mind And Controlled Its Wishes, Dictated Its Thoughts...the Name Was An Abstraction, A Title Arbitrarily Given, Like "france" Or "england," To A Collection, Never Long The Same, Of Many Individuals Who Were Born, Lived, And Died Within Him, As The Inhabitants Of A Country Appear And Disappear, But Keep Alive In Their Passage The Identity Of The Nation To Which They Belong.

Work Is Prayer. Work Is Also Stink. Therefore Stink Is Prayer.

The Snapshots Had Become Almost As Dim As Memories.

The More You Know, The More You See

...it Is Not What One Has Experienced But What One Does With What One Has Experienced That Matters.