Vision Sometimes Comes In A Memory.

Everything That Falls Upon The Eye Is Apparition, A Sheet Dropped Over The World's True Workings. The Nerves And The Brain Are Tricked, And One Is Left With Dreams That These Specters Loose Their Hands From Ours And Walk Away, The Curve Of The Back And The Swing Of The Coat So Familiar As To Imply That They Should Be Permanent Fixtures Of The World, When In Fact Nothing Is More Perishable.

Of My Conception I Know Only What You Know Of Yours. It Occurred In Darkness And I Was Unconsenting... By Some Bleak Alchemy What Had Been Mere Unbeing Becomes Death When Life Is Mingled With It.

God Does Not Need Our Worship. We Worship To Enlarge Our Sense Of Holy, So That We Can Feel And Know The Presense Of The Lord, Who Is With Us Always. He Said, Love Is What It Amounts To, A Loftier Love, And Pleasure In A Loving Presence.

I Am Grateful For All Those Dark Years, Even Though In Retrospect They Seem Like A Long, Bitter Prayer That Was Answered Finally.

I Like A Book To Be Full Of The Memory Of What It Is, A Voice In An Endless Conversation, And Yet At The Same Time To Be New.