The pages have fallen as leaves, the book has closed as a season. I shall speak no more on this.
I fear the imminent collapse of some bookshelves. Where am I going to stash my Spidey comics now? Solid wood good, plywood bad. Something to remember. I’ve decided to take up my heartworn little St John’s College obstacle course again. May I go further than half an Iliad this time round. Not that it was too much, but now I hope I can understand more with every reading, beginning and ending. What do I love about books? Their treacherous constancy, their constant treachery. Their base nature, their natural baseness. Their honesty, their vulnerability to misunderstanding and misuse. They amuse me.
So what am I going to do about me? I don’t think I should try to conquer my quicker (and deathly) instincts by myself, it’s not worth the vain hope and trouble. Though I know whom I should turn to, the days grow short, and the mind grows weary. But the turn of the tide awaits. (Klee-Shay.) It is not about a leap of faith. It is not about sightless reckoning. It is not about getting heartfuls of desire. it is about listening and reading with understanding, not with skull of stone nor heart of purest metal.
How have you proven your quality today? Much better than the wolves in the wall allowed this here writer to do, I would hope. Now go out and change the world.