In A Game, Just Losing Is Almost

The Camera May Do Justice To Laughter, But Must Degrade Sorrow.

We Honor Founders Of These Starving Cities, Whose Honor Is The Image Of Our Sorrow.

A Small Grove Massacred To The Last Ash, An Oak With Heart-rot, Give Away The Show: This Great Society Is Going To Smash; They Cannot Fool Us With How Fast They Go, How Much They Cost Each Other And The Gods. A Culture Is No Better Than Its Woods.

It's Impossible To Represent A Saint [in Art]. It Becomes Boring. Perhaps Because He Is, Like The Saturday Evening Post People, Inthe Position Of Having Almost Infinitely Free Will.

In The Deserts Of The Heart Let The Healing Fountain Start.