Stupid — Well, There Are So Many

Solitude Produces Originality, Bold And Astonishing Beauty, Poetry. But Solitude Also Produces Perverseness, The Disproportianate, The Absurd And The Forbidden.

Isn't It Grand, Isn't It Good, That Language Has Only One Word For Everything We Associate With Love - From Utter Sanctity To The Most Fleshly Lust? The Result Is Perfect Clarity In Ambiguity, For Love Cannot Be Disembodied Even In Its Most Sanctified Forms, Nor Is It Without Sanctity Even At Its Most Fleshly. Love Is Always Simply Itself, Both As A Subtle Affirmation Of Life And As The Highest Passion; Love Is Our Sympathy With Organic Life.

We Do Not Fear Being Called Meticulous, Inclining As We Do To The View That Only The Exhaustive Can Be Truly Interesting.

Nothing Is Stranger Or More Ticklish Than A Relationship Between People Who Know Each Other Only By Sight, Who Meet And Observe Each Other Daily - No Hourly - And Are Nevertheless Compelled To Keep Up The Pose Of An Indifferent Stranger, Neither Greeting Nor Addressing Each Other, Whether Out Of Etiquette Or Their Own Whim.

He Probably Was Mediocre After All, Though In A Very Honorable Sense Of That Word.