This Must Be What It Means To

Words Have Their Own Hierarchy, Their Own Protocol, Their Own Artistic Titles, Their Own Plebeian Stigmas.

...the Habit Of Falling Hardens The Body, Reaching The Ground, To In Itself, Is A Relief.

The Time For Miracles Has Either Passed Or Not Come Yet, Besides, Miracles, Genuine Miracles, Whatever People Say, Are Not Such A Good Idea, If It Means Destroying The Very Order Of Things In Order To Improve Them.

Blessed Be The Night, Which Conceals And Protects Things Fair And Foul With The Same Indifferent Mantle.

We Would Understand Much More About Life’s Complexities If We Applied Ourselves To An Assiduous Study Of Its Contradictions, Instead Of Wasting Time On Identities And Coherences, Seeing As These Have A Duty To Provide Their Own Explanations.