It Occurs To Me That Our Survival

War Must Never Be A Condition But, Rather, A Temporary Scourge Which We Suffer As A Child Does A Fever, Knowing That Health Follows The Long Night Of Pain And That Peace Is Health.

Words Were Like Objects, Making The Idea More Solid -- Less A Poisonous Gas And More A ... Cube Of Crystallized Thought.

Anticlimax Is, Of Course, The Warp And Way Of Things. Real Life Seldom Structures A Decent Denouement.

There Is A Certain Solipsism To Serious Illness Which Claims All Of One's Attention As Certainly As An Astronomical Black Hole Seizes Anything Unlucky Enough To Fall Within Its Critical Radius.

Mystery. The Strangeness Of Place So Necessary To Some Creative Spirits. A Perfect Mixture Of The Classical Utopia And The Pagan Mystery.