A man without friends is a tree without leaves. — Jack Vance

The symbologist made a cryptic sign. “That remains to be seen, as the cat said who voided into the sugar bowl.”

I am an unhappy man. I am haunted by my inability to express the inexpressible, to come to terms with the unknown. The pursuit of beauty is, of course, a major psychological drive. It its various guises—which is to say, the urge to perfection, the yearning to merge with the eternal, the explorer’s restlessness, the realization of an Absolute created by ourselves, yet larger than our totality—it is perhaps the most important human thrust.

“Be on your way; this is holy soil.”

“How can you be so sure? It looks like ordinary dirt.”