But Lies Were What People Wanted; That

On The River Path In Boston Beauty Was Most Expressed As Youth And Intelligence. That Made Sense; Sixty Degree-giving Institutions, Some Three Hundred Thousand Students; That Meant At Least One Hundred Fifty Thousand More Nubile Young Women Than Demographics Would Ordinarily Suggest. Maybe That Was Why Young Men Stayed In Boston When Their College Years Were Over, Maybe That Explained Why They Were So Intellectually Hyperactive, So Frustrated, So Alcoholic, Such Terrible Drivers.

You Can Only Kill Disappointment With A New Try.

Childhood Isn't Just Those Years. It's Also The Opinions You Form About Them Afterward. That's Why Our Childhoods Are So Long.

Beauty Was The Promise Of Happiness, Not Happiness Itself; And The Anticipated World Was Often More Rich Than Anything Real.

Look At The Pattern This Seashell Makes. The Dappled Whorl, Curving Inward To Infinity. That's The Shape Of The Universe Itself. There's Constant Pressure, Pushing Towards Pattern. A Tendency In Matter To Evolve Into Ever More Complex Forms. It's A Kind Of Pattern Gravity, A Holy Greening Power We Call 'viriditas' And It Is The Driving Force In The Cosmos. Life, You See.