I have decided to leave Clea’s last letter un-answered. I no longer wish to coerce anyone, to make promises, to think of life in terms of compacts, resolutions, covenants. It will be up to Clea to interpret my silence according to her own needs and desires, to come to me if she has need or not, as the case may be. Does not everything depend on our interpretation of the silence around us?

Art like life is an open secret.

Truth is a matter of direct apprehension-you can't climb a ladder of mental concepts to it.

Prohibitions create the desire they were intended to cure.

It’s only with great vulgarity that you can achieve real refinement, only out of bawdry that you can get tenderness.

'We live' writes Pursewarden somewhere 'lives based upon selected fictions. Our view of reality is conditioned by our position in space and time — not by our personalities as we like to think. Thus every interpretation oа reality is based upon a unique position. Two paces east or west and the whole picture is changed.

They say that if you get bored enough with calamity you can learn to laugh.