There Is A Way To Master Silence

Not All The Ravages Caused By Our Merciless Age Are Tangible Ones. The Subtler Forms Of Destruction, Those Involving Only The Human Spirit, Are The Most To Be Dreaded.

It's Very Hard To Write About That Which Is Always Beautiful And Pleasant And Good. You Don't Get Anywhere With It. There's No Friction In It. There's No Trouble. You Have To Have Trouble. Somebody's Got To Get In Trouble, Or No One Wants To Read It.

Because We Don't Know When We Will Die, We Get To Think Of Life As An Inexhaustible Well. Yet Everything Happens Only A Certain Number Of Times, And A Very Small Number Really. How Many More Times Will You Remember A Certain Afternoon Of Your Childhood, An Afternoon That Is So Deeply A Part Of Your Being That You Can't Even Conceive Of Your Life Without It? Perhaps Four Or Five Times More, Perhaps Not Even That. How Many More Times Will You Watch The Full Moon Rise? Perhaps 20. And Yet It All Seems Limitless.

The Only Thing That Makes Life Worth Living Is The Possibility Of Experiencing Now And Then A Perfect Moment. And Perhaps Even More Than That, It's Having The Ability To Recall Such Moments In Their Totality, To Contemplate Them Like Jewels.

No One Can Ever Heap Enough Insults Upon Me To Suit My Taste. I Think We All Really Thrive On Hostility, Because It's The Most Intense Kind Of Massage The Ego Can Undergo. Other People's Indifference Is The Only Horror.