To Want To Be What One Can

Whoever Mourns The Dead Mourns Himself.

In 1952, I Had Gone To England On A Literary Pilgrimage, But What I Also Saw, Even At That Distance From The Blitz, Were Bombed-out Ruins And An Enervated Society, While The Continent Was Still, Psychologically, In The Grip Of Its Recent Atrocities.

There's A Paradox In Rereading. You Read The First Time For Rediscovery: An Encounter With The Confirming Emotions. But You Reread For Discovery: You Go To The Known To Figure Out The Workings Of The Unknown, The Why Of The Familiar How.

The Butterfly Lures Us Not Only Because He Is Beautiful, But Because He Is Transitory. The Caterpillar Is Uglier, But In Him We Can Regard The Better Joy Of Becoming.

What We Remember From Childhood We Remember Forever - Permanent Ghosts, Stamped, Inked, Imprinted, Eternally Seen.