Happiness Is A Matter Of One's Most

In Philosophy If You Aren't Moving At A Snail's Pace You Aren't Moving At All.

So We Live; A Spirit That Broods And Hovers Over The Continual Death Of Time, The Lost Meaning, The Unrecaptured Moment, The Unremembered Face, Until The Final Chop That Ends All Our Moments And Plunges That Spirit Back Into The Void From Which It Came.

Most Real Relationships Are Involuntary.

We Are All The Judges And The Judged, Victims Of The Casual Malice And Fantasy Of Others, And Ready Sources Of Fantasy And Malice In Our Turn. And If We Are Sometimes Accused Of Sins Of Which We Are Innocent, Are There Not Also Other Sins Of Which We Are Guilty And Of Which The World Knows Nothing?

All Art Deals With The Absurd And Aims At The Simple. Good Art Speaks Truth, Indeed Is Truth, Perhaps The Only Truth.