The Goal Is The Same: Life Itself;

The Mere Attempt To Examine My Own Confusion Would Consume Volumes.

When He Ran From A Cop, His Transitions From Accelerating Walk To Easy Jog Trot To Brisk Canter To Headlong Gallop To Flogged-piston Sprint . . . Were As Distinct And As Soberly In Order As An Automatic Gearshift.

The Deadliest Blow The Enemy Of The Human Soul Can Strike Is To Do Fury Honor. . . . Official Acceptance Is The One Unmistakable Symptom That Salvation Is Beaten Again, And Is The One Surest Sign Of Fatal Misunderstanding, And Is The Kiss Of Judas.

It Is A Peculiar Part Of The Good Photographer's Adventure To Know Where Luck Is Most Likely To Lie In The Stream, To Hook It, And To Bring It In Without Unfair Play And Without Too Much Subduing It.

We Are Talking Now Of Summer Evenings In Knoxville, Tennessee, In The Time That I Lived There So Successfully Disguised To Myself As A Child.