But An Artist, He Realized. Or Rather

Maybe Each Human Being Lives In A Unique World, A Private World, A World Different From Those Inhabited And Experienced By All Other Humans.

Skill Is A Function Of Chance. It’s An Intuitive Best-use Of Chance Situations.

In This Dark World Where He Now Dwelt, Ugly Things And Surprising Things And Once In A Long While A Tiny Wondrous Thing Spilled Out At Him Constantly; He Could Count On Nothing.

We Should Take Mothers In High Seas And Drown Them There, They Are As Poisonous As Lead In The Air.

Activity Does Not Necessarily Mean Life. Quasars Are Active. And A Monk Meditating Is Not Inanimate.