Until The Missing Story Of Ourselves Is

Every Thought Sounds Like A Footfall, Till A Thought Like A Boot Kicks Down The Wall.

To Tell One Comprehensive Story Of How It Has Happened That What Is Is, One Which Shall Hold True, Come What May, Now-after - A Story That Whatever Comes Shall Perfectly Continue Or Confirm: Such Is The Ideal Motive Of Religions.

Emile Saint-blague Had Been A Lively, Versatile Painter In His Youth, But He Had Abused His Energy By Painting Too Many Pictures; So That In What Might Have Been The Ripe Period Of His Art He Had Nothing Left But Ideas. A Man Who Has Nothing Left But Ideas May Be Of Great Service To His Friends, But He Is Of No Use At All To Himself. Emile Was Certainly An Inspiration To His Friends.

Evil I Had Never Found Satisfactorily Placeable As An Integral Element Of The Universal, Or Total, Content Of Existence. Indeed, Evil Is Evil Just Because There Is No Logical Place For It, No Room In Reality For It. It Is Unreal, And Yet Real As Something Unreal.

Until The Missing Story Of Ourselves Is Told, Nothing Besides Told Can Suffice Us: We Shall Go On Quietly Craving It.