I Was Read To As A Small

There Are Worries That Seem To Me Sustained By The Love Of Worry. For Example, That People Are Reading From Screens, Or Listening To Recorded Books. Why Scold The Impulse To Enjoy Language And Narrative In Whatever Form It Takes?

There Is No Justice In Love, No Proportion In It, And There Need Not Be, Because In Any Specific Instance It Is Only A Glimpse Or Parable Of An Embracing, Incomprehensible Reality. It Makes No Sense At All Because It Is The Eternal Breaking In On The Temporal. So How Could It Subordinate Itself To Cause Or Consequence?

I'm Amazed At What I Have Taken For Granted. How To Truly Take In Our Situation I Don't Know, But I Wish I Had Started Asking Myself That Question Earlier Than I Did.

I Can’t Believe We Will Forget Our Sorrows Altogether. That Would Mean Forgetting That We Had Lived, Humanly Speaking. Sorrow Seems To Me To Be A Great Part Of The Substance Of Human Life.

I'm Really Disturbed By The Degree To Which I Don't Hear People Saying, "are We Leaving The World Better Than We Found It?" I Think We Are A Generation That Perhaps Could Not Answer In The Affirmative, And It Is The Evasion Of The Larger Responsibility Of Being Only One Generation In What One Hopes Will Be An Infinite Series Of Fruitful Generations. There Is A Selfishness In Refusing To Understand That We Are Passing Through; Others Will Come, And They Deserve Certain Courtesies And Certain Considerations From Us.