Knowledge Is Marvelous, But Wisdom Is Even

Suicide Note: The Calm, Cool Face Of The River Asked Me For A Kiss. -langston Hughes

I Think That For Thousands Of Years People Have Made The Observation That There Are Certain Kinds Of Extreme Depressive States That Seem To Be More Likely To Produce Philosophers, People In The Arts, Unusually Brilliant Scientists.

I Long Ago Abandoned The Notion Of A Life Without Storms, Or A World Without Dry And Killing Seasons. Life Is Too Complicated, Too Constantly Changing, To Be Anything But What It Is. And I Am, By Nature, Too Mercurial To Be Anything But Deeply Wary Of The Grave Unnaturalness Involved In Any Attempt To Exert Too Much Control Over Essentially Uncontrollable Forces. There Will Always Be Propelling, Disturbing Elements, And They Will Be There Until, As Lowell Put It, The Watch Is Taken From The Wrist.

I Was Late To Understand That Chaos And Intensity Are No Subsitute For Lasting Love, Nor Are They Necessarily An Improvement On Real Life. Normal People Are Not Always Boring. On The Contrary. Volatility And Passion, Although Often More Romantic And Enticing, Are Not Intrinsically Preferable To A Steadiness Of Experience And Feeling About Another Person.

There Is A Particular Kind Of Pain, Elation, Loneliness And Terror Involved In This Kind Of Madness... It Will Never End, For Madness Carves Its Own Reality.