The Shelf Was Filled With Books That

One Is Attracted To Beauty. Beauty Is The Coordination Of Things, In Such A Way, That It Is What Attracts You. It's Almost Self-defining.

Who Said That Justice Is What You Imagine? Can You Be Sure That You Know It When You See It, That You Will Live Long Enough To Recognize The Decisive Thunder Of Its Occurrence, That It Can Be Manifest Within A Generation, Within Ten Generations, Within The Entire Span Of Human Existence? What You Are Talking About Is Common Sense, Not Justice. Justice Is Higher And Not As Easy To Understand - Until It Presents Itself In Unmistakable Splendor. The Design Of Which I Speak Is Far Above Our Understanding. But We Can Sometimes Feel Its Presence.

They Were Dancing Around The Fountain, Arm In Arm, In An Old Dutch Dance, Their Cheeks Touching, Their Hands Entwined. They Had No Music; They Hummed. And There Was No Reason For Them To Be Dancing That Peter Lake Could See, Except That It Was An Exceptionally Beautiful Night.

No One Ever Said That You Would Live To See The Repercussions Of Everything You Do, Or That You Have Guarantees, Or That You Are Not Obliged To Wander In The Dark, Or That Everything Will Be Proved To You And Neatly Verified Like Something In Science. Nothing Is: At Least Nothing That Is Worthwhile.

I Have To Confess That I Have So Rarely Experienced Triumph That I Cannot Claim To Know It Well Enough To Judge, But It Seems To Be At Best A Momentary Joy Followed Instantly By Sadness, And, Then, Of Necessity, By Wariness.