Silences Can Be As Different As Sounds.

Nothing Can Happen Nowhere. The Locale Of The Happening Always Colours The Happening, And Often, To A Degree, Shapes It.

Art Is One Thing That Can Go On Mattering Once It Has Stopped Hurting.

The Heart May Think It Knows Better: The Senses Know That Absence Blots People Out. We Really Have No Absent Friends. The Friend Becomes A Traitor By Breaking, However Unwillingly Or Sadly, Out Of Our Own Zone: A Hard Judgment Is Passed On Him, For All The Pleas Of The Heart.

All Good Dialogue Perhaps Deals With Something Unprecedented.

It Is In This Unearthly First Hour Of Spring Twilight That Earth's Almost Agonized Livingness Is Most Felt. This Hour Is So Dreadful To Some People That They Hurry Indoors And Turn On The Lights.