Nothing True Can Be Said About God

What An Embarrassment That Was, Being Somewhere Because There Was Nowhere Else For You To Be.

I'm Really Disturbed By The Degree To Which I Don't Hear People Saying, "are We Leaving The World Better Than We Found It?" I Think We Are A Generation That Perhaps Could Not Answer In The Affirmative, And It Is The Evasion Of The Larger Responsibility Of Being Only One Generation In What One Hopes Will Be An Infinite Series Of Fruitful Generations. There Is A Selfishness In Refusing To Understand That We Are Passing Through; Others Will Come, And They Deserve Certain Courtesies And Certain Considerations From Us.

You Build Your Mind, So Make It Into Something You Want To Live With.

That Is How Life Goes--we Send Our Children Into The Wilderness. Some Of Them On The Day They Are Born, It Seems, For All The Help We Can Give Them. Some Of Them Seem To Be A Kind Of Wilderness Unto Themselves. But There Must Be Angels There, Too, And Springs Of Water. Even That Wilderness, The Very Habitation Of Jackals, Is The Lord's.

Every Spirit Passing Through The World Fingers The Tangible And Mars The Mutable And Finally Has Come To Look And Not To Buy. So Shoes Are Worn And Hassocks Are Sat Upon And Finally Everything Is Left Where It Was And The Spirit Passes On, Just As The Wind In The Orchard Picks Up The Leaves From The Ground As If There Were No Other Pleasure In The World But Brown Leaves, As If It Would Deck, Clothe, Flesh Itself In Flourishes Of Dusty Brown Apple Leaves And Then Drops Them All In A Heap At The Side Of The House And Goes On.