Within Our Whole Universe The Story Only

There Is Something Strangely Determinate And Fatal About A Single Shot In The Night. It Is As If Someone Had Cried A Message To You In One Word, And Would Not Repeat It.

Here And There, In Some Older Houses, Old Faded Daguerreotypes Still Hang On The Walls... They Seem To Us To Be Very Simple... Compared With The Artistic And Skillful Portraits Made In Later Days... Here Was A Photograph That At One Time Had Been The Last Word, A Very Modern Portrait... Today It Is Just A Part Of Cultural History. The Small Yellowed Surface Has Acquired Depth, An Admonishing Perspective. We Hold In Our Hand A Symbol Of The Structure And Ideology Of An Epoch.

Tragedy Should Remain The Right Of Human Beings, Subject, In Their Conditions Or In Their Own Nature, To The Dire Law Of Necessity. To Them It Is Salvation And Beatification.

A Giraffe Is So Much A Lady That One Refrains From Thinking Of Her Legs, But Remembers Her As Floating Over The Plains In Long Garb, Draperies Of Morning Mist Her Mirage.

One Does Not Travel By Plane. One Is Merely Sent, Like A Parcel.