There It Is: I Am Gently Slipping

This Is The Basis For The Joy Of Love When There Is Joy; We Feel That Our Existence Is Justified.

A Lost Battle Is A Battle One Thinks One Has Lost.

I Do Not Feel That I Am The Product Of Chance, A Speck Of Dust In The Universe, But Someone Who Was Expected, Prepared, Prefigured. In Short, A Being Whom Only A Creator Could Put Here; And This Idea Of A Creating Hand Refers To God.

If I Relegate Impossible Salvation To The Prop Room, What Remains? A Whole Man, Composed Of All Men And As Good As All Of Them And No Better Than Any.

Nothingness Lies Coiled In The Heart Of Being - Like A Worm.