The Invisible Is Only Another Unexplored Country,

Aeneas Carried His Aged Father On His Back From The Ruins Of Troy And So Do We All, Whether We Like It Or Not, Perhaps Even If We Have Never Known Them.

Iconic Clothing Has Been Secularized. . . . A Guardsman In A Dress Uniform Is Ostensibly An Icon Of Aggression; His Coat Is Red As The Blood He Hopes To Shed. Seen On A Coat-hanger, With No Man Inside It, The Uniform Loses All Its Blustering Significance And, To The Innocent Eye Seduced By Decorative Colour And Tactile Braid, It Is As Abstract In Symbolic Information As A Parasol To An Eskimo. It Becomes Simply Magnificent.

There Is A Striking Resemblance Between The Act Of Love And The Ministrations Of A Torturer.

It Is, Perhaps, A Better Thing To Be Valued Only As An Object Of Passion Than Never To Be Valued At All.

Spindly Branches Of Buttercups Were Secreted Among Gleaming Stems Still Moist At The Roots From Last Night's Rain That Had Washedand Refreshed The Entire Wood, Had Dowered It In Poignant Transparency, The Unique, Inconsolable Quality Of Rainy Countries, As If All Was Glimpsed Through Tears.