Then Why Did You Tell Me?

No One Escapes The Wilderness On The Way To The Promised Land.

It's A Little Silly To Finally Learn How To Write At This Age. But I Long Ago Realized I Was Secretly Sincere.

The Answer Must Be, I Think, That Beauty And Grace Are Performed Whether Or Not We Will Or Sense Them. The Least We Can Do Is Try To Be There.

We Wake, If We Ever Wake At All, To Mystery, Rumors Of Death, Beauty, Violence.

These Are Our Few Live Seasons. Let Us Live Them As Purely As We Can, In The Present.