Between Skin And Skin, There Is Only

In Some Mysterious Way Woods Have Never Seemed To Me To Be Static Things. In Physical Terms, I Move Through Them; Yet In Metaphysical Ones, They Seem To Move Through Me.

When You Draw Something It Lives And When You Photograph It It Dies

Only One Same Reason Is Shared By All Of Us: We Wish To Create Worlds As Real As, But Other Than The World That Is. Or Was. This Is Why We Cannot Plan. We Know A World Is An Organism, Not A Machine. We Also Know That A Genuinely Created World Must Be Independent Of Its Creator; A Planned World (a World That Fully Reveals Its Planning) Is A Dead World. It Is Only When Our Characters And Events Begin To Disobey Us That They Begin To Live.

To Despise All Effort Is The Greatest Effort Of All.

But I Think The Most Harmful Change Brought About By Victorian Science In Our Attitude To Nature Lies In The Demand That Our Relation With It Must Be Purposive, Industrious, Always Seeking Greater Knowledge.