Wait And Wait. Most People's Lives Are

In That High Place In The Darkness The Two Oddly Sensitive Human Atoms Held Each Other Tightly And Waited. In The Mind Of Each Was The Same Thought. "i Have Come To This Lonely Place And Here Is This Other," Was The Substance Of The Thing Felt.

You Won’t Arrive. It Is An Endless Search.

Next To Occupation Is The Building Up Of Good Taste. That Is Difficult, Slow Work. Few Achieve It. It Means All The Difference In The World In The End.

I Go About Looking At Horses And Cattle. They Eat Grass, Make Love, Work When They Have To, Bear Their Young. I Am Sick With Envy Of Them.

Would It Not Be Better To Have It Understood That Realism, In So Far As The Word Means Reality To Life, Is Always Bad Art -- Although It May Possibly Be Very Good Journalism?