The Earth Is A Farm. We Are

The Fate Of All Explanation Is To Close One Door Only To Have Another Fly Wide Open.

Venus De Milo. To A Child She Is Ugly. When A Mind Adjusts To Thinking Of Her As A Completeness, Even Though, By Physiologic Standards, Incomplete, She Is Beautiful.

I Shut The Front Door Upon Christ And Einstein, And At The Back Door Hold Out A Welcoming Hand To Little Frogs And Periwinkles. I Believe Nothing Of My Own That I Have Ever Written. I Cannot Accept That The Products Of Minds Are Subject-matter For Beliefs.

The Theologians Have Recognized That The Ideal Is The Imitation Of God. If We Be A Part Of Such An Organic Thing, This Thing Is God To Us, As I Am God To The Cells That Compose Me.

It Is Not Possible To Define. Nothing Has Ever Been Finally Found Out. Because There Is Nothing Final To Find Out.