Literature Does Not Exist In A Vacuum.

Artists Are The Antennae Of The Race, But The Bullet-headed Many Will Never Learn To Trust The Great Artists.

What Thou Lovest Well Remains, The Rest Is Dross What Thou Lov'st Well Shall Not Be Reft From Thee What Thou Lov'st Well Is Thy True Heritage Whose World, Or Mine Or Theirs Or Is It Of None? First Came The Seen, Then Thus The Palpable Elysium, Though It Were In The Halls Of Hell. What Thou Lovest Well Is Thy True Heritage.

The Rustling Of The Silk Is Discontinued, Dust Drifts Over The Courtyard, There Is Not Sound Of Footfall, And The Leaves Scurry Into Heaps And Lie Still, And She The Rejoicer Of The Heart Is Beneath Them: A Wet Leaf That Clings To The Threshold.

Our Own Consciousness Is Incapable Of Having Produce The Universe. God, Therefore, Exists. That Is To Say, There Is No Reason For Not Applying The Term God, Theos, To The Intimate Essence

Great Literature Is Simply Language Charged With Meaning To The Utmost Possible Degree.