Realism, In So Far As The Word

On The Trees Are Only A Few Gnarled Apples That The Pickers Have Rejected. They Look Like The Knuckles Of Doctor Reefy's Hands. One Nibbles At Them And They Are Delicious. Into A Little Round Place At The Side Of The Apple Has Been Gathered All Its Sweetness. One Runs From Tree To Tree Over The Frosted Ground Picking The Gnarled, Twisted Apples And Filling His Pockets With Them. Only The Few Know The Sweetness Of The Twisted Apples.

In Youth There Are Always Two Forces Fighting In People. The Warm Unthinking Little Animal Struggles Against The Thing That Reflects And Remembers

It Was A Cold Day But The Sun Was Out And The Trees Were Like Great Bonfires Against Gray Distant Fields And Hills.

Wait And Wait. Most People's Lives Are Spent Waiting.

There Is Within Every Human Being A Deep Well Of Thinking Over Which A Heavy Iron Lid Is Kept Clamped.