Dark Influences From The American Past Congregate Among Us Still. If We Are A Democracy, What Are We To Make Of The Palpable Elements Of Plutocracy, Oligarchy, And Mounting Theocracy That Rule Our State? How Do We Address The Self-inflicted Catastrophes That Devastated Our Natural Environment? So Large Is Our Malaise That No Single Writer Can Encompass It. We Have No Emerson Or Whitman Among Us. An Institutionalized Counterculture Condemns Individuality As Archaic And Depreciates Intellectual Values, Even In The Universities. (the Anatomy Of Influence)
If You Want To Write Fiction, The Best Thing You Can Do Is Take Two Aspirins, Lie Down In A Dark Room, And Wait For The Feeling To Pass.
I Try To See The Dark And Light In Everything. This Is My Way Of Comforting Myself When I Am Dealing With Those Emotions.
If You Want To Find The Trail, If You Want To Find Yourself, You Must Explore Your Dreams Alone. You Must Grow At A Slow Pace In A Dark Cocoon Of Loneliness So You Can Fly Like Wind, Like Wings, When You Awaken.
At First We Raced Through Space, Like Shadows And Light; Her Rants, My Raves; Her Dark Hair, My Blonde; Black Dresses, White. She's A Purple-black African-violet-dark Butterfly And I A White Moth. We Were Two Wild Ponies, Dawn And Midnight, The Wind Electrifying Our Manes And Our Hooves Quaking The City; We Were Photo Negatives Of Each Other, Together Making The Perfect Image Of A Girl.
In Order To Have Bliss You Have To Be Able To Accept All The Parts Of The Other, All The Wildness And The Darkness. You Have To Be Able To Hold On.
But Death Is Stronger Than That And When You Cover Your Eyes You Are The One Who Can't See The Dark. The Dark Still Sees You.
I Dreamed You Were Standing In This Dark Place And You Touched These Dead Flowers And They Lit Up Like They Were Electric Or Something. Electric Lilies. Lighting Up The Valley.
Henderson Sighed. There Was A Time, He Reflected, When The Coming Of This Night Meant Something. A Dark Europe, Groaning In Superstitious Fear, Dedicated This Eve To The Grinning Unknown. A Million Doors Had Once Been Barred Against The Evil Visitants, A Million Prayers Mumbled, A Million Candles Lit. There Was Something Majestic About The Idea, Henderson Reflected.
We Cut These Numerous Windings In Our Destinies Daily With Our Own Hands, While We Imagine That We Are Pursuing A Track On The Royal High Road Of Respectability And Duty, And Then Complain Of Those Ways Being So Intricate And So Dark. We Stand Bewildered Before The Mystery Of Our Own Making, And The Riddles Of Life That We Will Not Solve, And Then Accuse The Great Sphinx Of Devouring Us.
O Winter! Bar Thine Adamantine Doors: The North Is Thine; There Hast Thou Build Thy Dark, Deep-founded Habitation. Shake Not Thy Roofs, Nor Bend Thy Pillars With Thine Iron Car.
Jerusalem (1804) And Did Those Feet In Ancient Time Walk Upon England's Mountains Green And Was The Holy Lamb Of God On England's Pleasant Pastures Seen And Did The Countenance Divine Shine Forth Upon Our Clouded Hills And Was Jerusalem Builded Here Among Those Dark Satanic Mills Bring Me My Bow Of Burning Gold Bring Me My Arrows Of Desire Bring Me My Spears O'clouds Unfold Bring Me My Chariot Of Fire I Will Not Cease From Mental Fight Nor Shall My Sword Sleep In My Hand 'til We Have Built Jerusalem In England's Green And Pleasant Land
