Facts Mean Nothing To Wounded Feelings.

It's The Perpetually Unfinished Quality Of Housework That Makes It Oppressive - It Never Ends, Like Bad Psychoanalysis, Or A Dream Interrupted. It Is Paradoxically True That It Is Exactly This Daily Re-creation Of The World That Lends Housekeeping Its Nobility And Romance.

We Are All Proprietary Toward Cities We Love. 'ah, You Should Have Seen Her When I Loved Her!' We Say, Reciting Glories Since Faded Or Defiled, Trusting Her To No One Else; That Others Should Know And Love Her In Her Present Fallen State (for She Must Fall Without Our Vigilant Love) Is A Species Of Betrayal.

All Acts Performed In The World Begin In The Imagination.

Persecution Always Acts As A Jell For Members Of Cults; It Proves To Them, In The Absence Of History, Liturgy, Tradition, And Doctrine, That They Are God's Chosen.

Facts Mean Nothing To Wounded Feelings.