Work Is What Horses Die Of

Woe To That Nation Whose Literature Is Disturbed By The Intervention Of Power. Because That Is Not Just A Violation Against "freedom Of Print," It Is The Closing Down Of The Heart Of The Nation, A Slashing To Pieces Of Its Memory. The Nation Ceases To Be Mindful Of Itself, It Is Deprived Of Its Spiritual Unity, And Despite A Supposedly Common Language, Compatriots Suddenly Cease To Understand One Another.

We Have Been Fortunate Enough To Live At A Time When Virtue, Though It Does Not Triumph, Is Nonetheless Not Always Tormented By Attack Dogs. Beaten Down, Sickly, Virtue Has Now Been Allowed To Enter In All Its Tatters And Sit In The Corner, As Long As It Doesn't Raise Its Voice.

Work Is What Horses Die Of

Human Nature Is Full Of Riddles And Contradictions; Its Very Complexity Engenders Art-and By Art I Mean The Search For Something More Than Simple Linear Formulations, Flat Solutions, Oversimplified Explanations.

... Once You Get Up Steam, You Are Carried Helplessly Along.