What for centuries raised man above the beast is not the cudgel but the irresistible power of unarmed truth.

How wonderful to be alive, he thought. But why does it always hurt?

What is laid down, ordered, factual is never enough to embrace the whole truth: life always spills over the rim of every cup.

Art has two constant, two unending concerns: It always meditates on death and thus always creates life. All great, genuine art resembles and continues the Revelation of St John.

Man is born to live, not to prepare for life.

Our evenings are farewells. Our parties are testaments. So that the secret stream of suffering. May warm the cold of life.

Art is unthinkable without risk and spiritual self-sacrifice.