I Do Not Have Any Home. So

His Own Life Seemed So Solitary, A Fragile Column Supporting Nothing Amidst The Wreckage Of The Years.

The Writer Must Hew The Phantom Rock.

But All The Time-no Matter What She Was Doing-there Was Music.

People Felt Themselves Watching Him Even Before They Knew That There Was Anything Different About Him. His Eyes Made A Person Think That He Heard Things That No One Else Had Ever Heard, That He Knew Things No One Had Ever Guessed Before. He Did Not Seem Quite Human.

I See A Green Tree. And To Me It Is Green. And You Would Call The Tree Green Also. And We Would Agree On This. But Is The Colour You See As Green The Same Colour I See As Green?