The Worst Takes Its Time To Come,

Should We Put Out The Light? And Then Put Out The Light. But Once Put Out Thy Light, I Cannot Give It Vital Breath Again. It Needs Must Wither.

Maybe A New Religion Will Rise Now. Maybe Without It, Man Will Crumble In Cynicism And Selfishness Because He Really Needs His Gods.

Nothing In All The World Is So Nonsensical And Contradictory, Save Mortals, That Is, Who Live In The Grip Of The Superstitions Of The Past.

In Spite Of All The Refinements Of Civilization That Conspired To Make Art--the Dizzying Perfection Of The String Quartet Or The Sprawling Grandeur Of Fragonard's Canvases--beauty Was Savage. It Was As Dangerous And Lawless As The Earth Had Been Eons Before Man Had One Single Coherent Thought In His Head Or Wrote Codes Of Conduct On Tablets Of Clay. Beauty Was A Savage Garden.

And Books, They Offer One Hope -- That A Whole Universe Might Open Up From Between The Covers, And Falling Into That Universe, One Is Saved.