There Are No Uncontaminated Angels

And Since We Don’t Just Forget Things Because They Don’t Matter But Also Forget Things Because They Matter Too Much Because Each Of Us Remembers And Forgets In A Pattern Whose Labyrinthine Windings Are An Identification Mark No Less Distinctive Than A Fingerprintit’s No Wonder That The Shards Of Reality One Person Will Cherish As A Biography Can Seem To Someone Else Who, Say, Happened To Have Eaten Some Ten Thousand Dinners At The Very Same Kitchen Table, To Be A Willful Excursion Into Mythomania

There Are No Uncontaminated Angels

One Either Imposes One's Ideas Or One Is Imposed On.

Turned The Wrong Way Around, The Relentless Unforeseen Was What We Schoolchildren Studied In "history", Harmless History, Where Everything Unexpected In Its Own Time Is Chronicled On The Page As Inevitable. The Terror Of The Unforeseen Is What The Science Of History Hides, Turning A Disaster Into An Epic.

He Is Not Simply Looking Into The Mirror Because He Is Transfixed By What He Sees. Rather, The Artist’s Success Depends As Much As Anything On His Powers Of Detachment, On De-narcissizing Himself… Freud… Studied His Own Dreams Not Because He Was A “narcissist,” But Because He Was A Student Of Dreams. And Whose Were At Once The Least And Most Accessible Of Dreams, If Not His Own?