Twelve Experts Gathered In One Room Equal

When Goals Go, Meaning Goes. When Meaning Goes, Purpose Goes. When Purpose Goes, Life Goes Dead On Our Hands.

What Happens After Death Is So Unspeakably Glorious That Our Imagination And Our Feelings Do Not Suffice To Form Even An Approximate Conception Of It. The Dissolution Of Our Time-bound Form In Eternity Brings No Loss Of Meaning.

I Know Every Numbskull Will Babble On About "black Man," "maneater," "chance," And "retrospective Interpretation," In Order To Banish Something Terribly Inconvenient That Might Sully The Familiar Picture Of Childhood Innocence. Ah, These Good, Efficient, Healthy-minded People, They Always Remind Me Of Those Optimistic Tadpoles Who Bask In A Puddle In The Sun, In The Shallowest Of Waters, Crowding Together And Amiably Wriggling Their Tails, Totally Unaware That The Next Morning The Puddle Will Have Dried Up And Left Them Stranded.

In All Earnestness I Asked Myself What Kind Of World I Had Stumbled Into.

The Unconscious Wants To Flow Into Consciousness In Order To Reach The Light, But At The Same Time It Continually Thwarts Itself, Because It Would Rather Remain Unconscious. That Is To Say, God Wants To Become Man, But Not Quite.