There Was A Rock In Front Of

An Increasing Number Of People Who Lead Mental Lives Of Great Intensity, People Who Are Sensitive By Nature, Notice The Steadily More Frequent Appearance In Them Of Mental States Of Great Strangeness ... A Wordless And Irrational Feeling Of Ecstasy; Or A Breath Of Psychic Pain; A Sense Of Being Spoken To From Afar, From The Sky Or The Sea; An Agonizingly Developed Sense Of Hearing Which Can Cause One To Wince At The Murmuring Of Unseen Atoms; An Irrational Staring Into The Heart Of Some Closed Kingdom Suddenly And Briefly Revealed.

A Few Days Back Someone Sent Me Two Feathers. Two Bird's Feathers In A Sheet Of Note-paper With A Coronet, And Fastened With A Seal. Sent From A Place A Long Way Off; From One Who Need Not Have Sent Them Back At All. That Amused Me Too, Those Devilish Green Feathers.

One Must Know And Recognize Not Merely The Direct But The Secret Power Of The Word.

Language Must Resound With All The Harmonies Of Music. The Writer Must Always, At All Times, Find The Tremulous Word Which Captures The Thing And Is Able To Draw A Sob From My Soul By Its Very Rightness.

But What Really Matters Is Not What You Believe But The Faith And Conviction With Which You Believe.