We Think Not In Words But In

But As Van Casually Directed The Searchlight Of Backthought Into That Maze Of The Past Where The Mirror-lined Narrow Paths Not Only Took Different Turns, But Used Different Levels (as A Mule-drawn Cart Passes Under The Arch Of A Viaduct Along Which A Motor Skims By), He Found Himself Tackling, In Still Vague And Idle Fashion, The Science That Was To Obsess His Mature Years - Problems Of Space And Time, Space Versus Time, Time-twisted Space, Space As Time, Time As Space - And Space Breaking Away From Time, In The Final Tragic Triumph Of Human Cogitation: I Am Because I Die.

And The Rest Is Rust And Stardust.

All Colors Made Me Happy: Even Gray. My Eyes Were Such That Literally They Took Photographs.

We Think Not In Words But In Shadows Of Words.

There Is Only One Real Number: One. And Love, Apparently, Is The Best Exponent Of This Singularity.