Things Are Opaque To Us, And We

To Redeem Creation The Saint Wages War On The Entire Fabric Of Creation, With The Bare Weapons Of Truth And Love.

The Truth Of Practical Intellect Is Understood Not As Conformity To An Extramental Being But As Conformity To A Right Desire; The End Is No Longer To Know What Is, But To Bring Into Existence That Which Is Not Yet.

The Love Of Americans For Their Country Is Not An Indulgent, It Is An Exacting And Chastising Love; They Cannot Tolerate Its Defects.

Whereas The Intelligence Of God Is Both The Cause And The Measure Of The Truth Of Things, Things Are Both The Cause And The Measure Of The Truth Of Our Intelligence.

That Is Why I Think, In Defiance Of Plato, That There Is At Once Error And Vulgarity In Saying That Poetry Is A Lie, Except In The Sense That Cocteau Wrote One Day: I Am A Lie Who Always Tells The Truth. The Only Poetry Which Lies Purely And Simply Is Academic, Pseudo-classical, Conceptually Repetitive Poetry, And It Is Not Poetry.