God Knows How Many Things A Man

In The Days Of The Frost Seek An Minor Sun.

As We Passed Under A Streetlamp I Noticed, Beside My Own Bobbing Shadow, Another Great, Leaping Grotesquerie That Had An Uncanny Suggestion Of The Frog World About It . . . Judging From The Shadow, It Was Soaring Higher And More Gaily Than Myself. 'very Well,' You Will Say, 'why Didn’t You Turn Around. That Would Be The Scientific Thing To Do.' But Let Me Tell You It Is Not Done ― Not On An Empty Road At Midnight.

What If I Am, In Some Way, Only A Sophisticated Fire That Has Acquired An Ability To Regulate Its Rate Of Combustion And To Hoard Its Fuel In Order To See And Walk?

Man Would Not Be Man If His Dreams Did Not Exceed His Grasp... If I Remember The Sunflower Forest It Is Because From Its Hidden Reaches Man Arose. The Green World Is His Sacred Center. In Moments Of Sanity He Must Still Seek Refuge There.

We Are One Of Many Appearances Of The Thing Called Life; We Are Not Its Perfect Image, For It Has No Perfect Image Except Life, And Life Is Multitudinous And Emergent In The Stream Of Time.