Art Is The Final Cunning Of The

All Our Failures Are Ultimately Failures In Love.

It Was Like Hunting Fish With An Underwater Gun, A Sport Which He Had Once Been Foolish Enough To Try. At One Moment There Is The Fish - Graceful, Mysterious, Desirable And Free - And The Next Moment There Is Nothing But Struggling And Blood And Confusion.

They Are Universal Places, Like Churches, Hallowed Meeting Places Of All Mankind.

Between Saying And Doing, Many A Pair Of Shoes Is Worn Out.

There Is No Beyond, There Is Only Here, The Infinitely Small, Infinitely Great And Utterly Demanding Present.