The Way To Recognize A Dead Word

The Suppression Of Inner Patterns In Favor Of Patterns Created By Society Is Dangerous To Us.

I Hate Rarely, Though When I Hate, I Hate Murderously.

The Inner Chambers Of The Soul Are Like The Photographer's Darkroom. Like A Laboratory. One Cannot Stay There All The Time Or It Becomes The Solitary Cell Of The Neurotic.

All Of My Creation Is An Effort To Weave A Web Of Connection With The World: I Am Always Weaving It Because It Was Once Broken.

One Handles Truths Like Dynamite.