We Are The Children Of Our Landscape;

Truth Disappears With The Telling Of It.

Somewhere In The Heart Of Experience There Is An Order And A Coherence Which We Might Purprise If We Were Attentive Enough, Loving Enough, Or Patient Enough.

Truth Is A Woman. That Is Why It Is Enigmatic.

Art—the Meaning Of The Pattern Of Our Common Actions In Reality. The Cloth-of-gold That Hides Behind The Sackcloth Of Reality, Forced Out By The Pain Of Human Memory.

It Is The Duty Of Every Patriot To Hate His Country Creatively.