The Human Race Is Intoxicated With Narrow

How The Holy And The Profane Mix In The Light Of Day And At The End Of Life Is Sometimes The Most Beautiful Thing In This World And A Compassionate Entry Into The Next. After Failure And Defeat, A Concentration Upon Certain Beauties, Though Forever Lost And Unretrievable, Can Lift The Wounded Past Roundedness And The Dying Past Dying, Protecting Them With An Image, Still And Bright, That Will Ride With Them On Their Long Ride, Never To Fade And Never To Retreat.

I Have A Particular Dislike Of Human Pride. And If You Think That You Can Engineer Outcomes, That's A Manifestation Of Pride. Among Other Things, It's Impractical. It Just Doesn't Work. The World Doesn't Work That Way.

I Follow My Own Nose. So I Read Things That Are Different. People Will Always Say To Me, "have You Read Robert S. Bosco's Latest Novel?" Or "have You Read So And So's History Of Peru, Which Is Reviewed In The New York Review Of Books And The New York Times And Has A Buzz About It?" I Don't Even Know What You're Talking About. I'm Like From Another Planet. I'm A Pygmy From The Jungle.

Perhaps Things Are Most Beautiful When They Are Not Quite Real; When You Look Upon A Scene As An Outsider, And Come To Possess It In Its Entirety And Forever; When You Live In The Present With The Lucidity And Feeling Of Memory; When, For Want Of Connection, The World Deepens And Becomes Art.

It's Very Painful To Be In Debt. I'm The Kind Of Person Who Would Rather Almost Die Than Go Into Debt.