We Are The Hero Of Our Own

I Shall Never Send For A Priest Or Recite An Act Of Contrition In My Last Moments. I Do Not Mind If I Lose My Soul For All Eternity. If The Kind Of God Exists Who Would Damn Me For Not Working Out A Deal With Him, Then That Is Unfortunate. I Should Not Care To Spend Eternity In The Company Of Such A Person.

This Is The Spirit Of The Enchantment Under Which Venice Lies, Pearly And Roseate, Like The Sleeping Beauty, Changeless Throughout The Centuries, Arrested, While The Concrete Forest Of The Modern World Grows Up Around Her.

All Dramatic Realism Is Somewhat Sadistic; An Audience Is Persuaded To Watch Something That Makes It Uncomfortable And From Which No Relief Is Offered - No Laughter, No Tears, No Purgation.

It Came To Me, As We Sat There, Glumly Ordering Lunch, That For Extremely Stupid People Anti-semitism Was A Form Of Intellectuality, The Sole Form Of Intellectuality Of Which They Were Capable. It Represented, In A Rudimentary Way, The Ability To Make Categories, To Generalize.

Venice Is The Worlds Unconscious: A Misers Glittering Hoard, Guarded By A Beast Whose Eyes Are Made Of White Agate, And By A Saint Who Is Really A Prince Who Has Just Slain A Dragon.