Fact Explains Nothing. On The Contrary, It

Sometimes My Doubt Seems Intuitive, But Most Likely It Derives From An Implausibility Or A Logical Problem I May At First Find Difficult To Identify And Articulate. It Is Interesting To Me To Work Through Questions That Arise In This Way.

One Of The Things That Is Wonderful About Hymns Is That They Are A Sort Of Universally Shared Poetry, At Least Among Certain Populations. There Isn't Much Of That Anymore Either. There Are Very Few Poems People Can Recite, But There Are Quite A Few Hymns That, If You Hum A Few Bars, People Can At Least Come Up With Two Verses. Many Of The Older Hymns Are Very Beautiful.

It Is An Amazing Thing To Watch People Laugh, The Way It Sort Of Takes Them Over. Sometimes They Really Do Struggle With It . . . So I Wonder What It Is And Where It Comes From, And I Wonder What It Expends Out Of Your System, So That You Have To Do It Till You're Done, Like Crying In A Way, I Suppose, Except That Laughter Is Much More Easily Spent.

Faith Takes A Great Many Forms, Suited To A Variety Of Sensibilities, And Mine Happens To Suit Me Very Well.

Ascension Seemed At Such Times A Natural Law. If One Added To It A Law Of Completion - That Everything Must Finally Be Made Comprehensible - Then Some General Rescue Of The Sort I Imagined My Aunt To Have Undertaken Would Be Inevitable. For Why Do Our Thoughts Turn To Some Gesture Of A Hand, The Fall Of A Sleeve, Some Corner Of A Room On A Particular Anonymous Afternoon, Even When We Are Asleep, And Even When We Are So Old That Our Thoughts Have Abandoned Other Business? What Are All These Fragments For , If Not To Be Knit Up Finally?