Reading Is The Last Act Of Secular

Only White Men Have The Luxury Of Ignoring Race.

Maybe Happiness Is Like A Virus. Maybe It's One Of Those Bugs That Sits For A Long Time, So We Don't Even Know That We Are Infected.

Music Forecasts The Past, Recalls The Future. Now And Then The Difference Falls Away, And In One Simple Gift Of Circling Sound, The Ear Solves The Scrambled Cryptogram. One Abiding Rhythm, Present And Always, And You're Free. But A Few Measures More, And The Cloak Of Time Closes Back Around You.

I Write The Way You Might Arrange Flowers. Not Every Try Works, But Each One Launches Another. Every Constraint, Even Dullness, Frees Up A New Design.

Reading Is The Last Act Of Secular Prayer.