The Closest Thing To Being Cared For

For Fear Is A Primary Source Of Evil. And When The Question "who Am I?" Recurs And Is Unanswered, Then Fear And Frustration Project A Negative Attitude. The Bewildered Soul Can Answer Only: "since I Do Not Understand 'who I Am,' I Only Know What I Am Not." The Corollary Of This Emotional Incertitude Is Snobbism, Intolerance And Racial Hate. The Xenophobic Individual Can Only Reject And Destroy, As The Xenophobic Nation Inevitably Makes War.

This Was Her, Mick Kelly, Walking In The Daytime And By Herself At Night. In The Hot Sun And In The Dark With All The Plans And Feelings. This Music Was Her—the Real Plain Her...this Music Did Not Take A Long Time Or A Short Time. It Did Not Have Anything To Do With Time Going By At All. She Sat With Her Arms Around Her Legs, Biting Her Salty Knee Very Hard. The Whole World Was This Symphony, And There Was Not Enough Of Her To Listen... Now That It Was Over There Was Only Her Heart Beating Like A Rabbit And This Terrible Hurt.

People Felt Themselves Watching Him Even Before They Knew That There Was Anything Different About Him. His Eyes Made A Person Think That He Heard Things That No One Else Had Ever Heard, That He Knew Things No One Had Ever Guessed Before. He Did Not Seem Quite Human.

I Meditated On Love And Reasoned It Out. I Realized What Is Wrong With Us. Men Fall In Love For The First Time. And What Do They Fall In Love With? ...they Fall In Love With A Woman. They Start At The Wrong End Of Love. They Begin At The Climax. Can You Wonder It Is So Miserable? Do You Know How Men Should Love? A Tree. A Rock. A Cloud.

The Dimensions Of A Work Of Art Are Seldom Realized By The Author Until The Work Is Accomplished. It Is Like A Flowering Dream. Ideas Grow, Budding Silently, And There Are A Thousand Illuminations Coming Day By Day As The Work Progresses. A Seed Grows In Writing As In Nature. The Seed Of The Idea Is Developed By Both Labor And The Unconscious, And The Struggle That Goes On Between Them.