Your Feelings Are None Of Your Business.

Unless All Ages And Races Of Men Have Been Deluded By The Same Mass Hypnotist (who?), There Seems To Be Such A Thing As Beauty, A Grace Wholly Gratuitous.

An Inuit Hunter Asked The Local Missionary Priest: If I Did Not Know About God And Sin, Would I Go To Hell? No, Said The Priest, Not If You Did Not Know. Then Why, Asked The Inuit Earnestly, Did You Tell Me?

A Writer Looking For Subjects Inquires Not After What He Loves Best, But After What He Alone Loves At All.

What A Hideout: Holiness Lies Spread And Borne Over The Surface Of Time And Stuff Like Color.

At Its Best, The Sensation Of Writing Is That Of Any Unmerited Grace. It Is Handed To You, But Only If You Look For It.