Everything That Is Not Me Is Incomprehensible.

Everything That Is Not Me Is Incomprehensible.

O Months Of Blossoming, Months Of Transfigurations, May Without Cloud And June Stabbed To The Heart, I Shall Not Ever Forget The Lilacs Or The Roses Nor Those The Spring Has Kept Folded Away Apart.

Light Is Meaningful Only In Relation To Darkness, And Truth Presupposes Error. It Is These Mingled Opposites Which People Our Life, Which Make It Pungent, Intoxicating. We Only Exist In Terms Of This Conflict, In The Zone Where Black And White Clash.

It Is Time To Return To Close Reading, To A Serious And Painstaking Examination Of An Author's Methods, Of His Style. Do Not Be Deterred By Headaches. First Of All, This Would Be Proof Of Your Lack Of Stamina. And Then, Migraines, Piercing Pain And Sudden Stabs At The Temples Are More Likely The Effects Of Syphilis Than Of Hard Work.

We Know That The Nature Of Genius Is To Provide Idiots With Ideas Twenty Years Later.