It Is Not Love That Is Blind,

It Only Takes One Match To Ignite A Haystack, Or One Remark To Fire A Mind.

Everyone Loathes His Own Country And Countrymen If He Is Any Sort Of Artist.

These Are The Moments Which Are Not Calculable, And Cannot Be Assessed In Words; They Live On In The Solution Of Memory, Like Wonderful Creatures, Unique Of Their Own Kind, Dredged Up From The Floors Of Some Unexplored Ocean.

It Is Not Peace We Seek But Meaning.

Somewhere In The Heart Of Experience There Is An Order And A Coherence Which We Might Purprise If We Were Attentive Enough, Loving Enough, Or Patient Enough.