I'm offended by things and take pathetic little stands against them.
A circle is the longest distance to same point.
Each move is dictated by the previous one--that is the meaning of order
My mind gets into a verbal mode.
I've lost all capacity for disbelief. I'm not sure that I could even rise to a little gentle scepticism.
I doubt that art needed Ruskin any more than a moving train needs one of its passengers to shove it.