Every Real Thing Is A Joy, If

At The Root Of Many A Woman's Failure To Become A Great Cook Lies Her Failure To Develop A Workmanlike Regard For Knives.

Why Do We Marry, Why Take Friends And Lovers? Why Give Ourselves To Music, Painting, Chemistry Or Cooking? Out Of Simple Delight In The Resident Goodness Of Creation, Of Course; But Out Of More Than That, Too. Half Earth's Gorgeousness Lies Hidden In The Glimpsed City It Longs To Become.

Grace Cannot Prevail...until Our Lifelong Certainty That Someone Is Keeping Score Has Run Out Of Steam And Collapsed.

Grace Is The Celebration Of Life, Relentlessly Hounding All The Non-celebrants In The World. It Is A Floating, Cosmic Bash Shouting Its Way Through The Streets Of The Universe, Flinging The Sweetness Of Its Cassations To Every Window, Pounding At Every Door In A Hilarity Beyond All Liking And Happening, Until The Prodigals Come Out At Last And Dance, And The Elder Brothers Finally Take Their Fingers Out Of Their Ears.

What Are You Going To Do With Your Freedom?