He Was Trying To Fit This Herakles

It Is When You Are Asking About Something That You Realize You Yourself Have Survived It, And So You Must Carry It, Or Fashion It Into A Thing That Carries Itself.

Prowling The Meanings Of A Word, Prowling The History Of A Person, No Use Expecting A Flood Of Light. Human Words Have No Main Switch. But All Those Little Kidnaps In The Dark. And Then The Luminous, Big, Shivering, Discandied, Unrepentant, Barking Web Of Them That Hangs In Your Mind When You Turn Back To The Page You Were Trying To Translate.

It Takes Practice To Shave The Skin Off The Light.

We Humans Seem Disastrously In Love With This Thing (whatever It Is) That Glitters On The Earth-- We Call It Life.

It Is Easier To Tell A Story Of How People Wound One Another Than Of What Binds Them Together.