A Poem Is A Window That Hangs

Each Thing I Do, I Rush Through So I Can Do Something Else. In Such A Way Do The Days Pass - -a Blend Of Stock Car Racing And The Never Ending Building Of A Gothic Cathedral. Through The Windows Of My Speeding Car I See All That I Love Falling Away: Books Unread, Jokes Untold, Landscapes Unvisited.

Actions Have Consequences. Ignorance About The Nature Of Those Actions Does Not Free A Person From Responsibility For The Consequences. (28)

When A Philosopher, Scientist, Or Psychologist Discusses The Discrepancy Between The Actual And The Ideal, He Or She Attempts To Convince Us With The Tools Of Discursive Thought ... An Artist Does It Differently ... Their Primary Approach Is Different, Even Though Both Groups, If You Will, Are Investigating The Actual, The Ideal, And The Discrepancy In Between.

There's A Welsh Poet, R.s. Thomas. He Was A Very Crotchety, Strange Man, But His Poems Are Wonderful. He Was Nominated For The Nobel In The 1990s But Never Won.

Sometimes Someone Will Tell Me About An Author I've Never Heard Of Before And That Will Send Me To That Person. That's How I Discovered Thomas Bernhard, An Austrian Novelist Whose Novels Tend To Be One Long Rant.