His soaring vaunt escaped the blooming ears of us, He's gone, he's dead, he's dirt, he disappears from us! Be this the death of highest thrust of hum… - R. A. Lafferty

But time heals all wounds. That is a proverb, an untrue proverb. There wounds unhealed by time enough to fill every lazare from the beginning. All time can do is to give a little time, to achieve composure, to make a mask. You build it out of textured wax, and if you are skilful it looks just like your face, just like your face will look ten years from now. But it doesn’t fit right. You never saw one that fit right.

But the world goes on. That’s another thing that people say. It doesn’t. It jolts a little bit and bumps; and then it comes to a stop. The scenery unrolls backwards and gives the impression that the world goes on. Bit it does not go.

I write as clearly as I am able to. I sometimes tackle ideas and notions that are relatively complex, and it is very difficult to be sure that I am conveying them in the best way. Anyone who goes beyond cliche phrases and cliche ideas will have this trouble.

I am mistress of all the sciences. I go so far beyond all else that my work is called magic. I manipulate noumena, regarding monads as points of entry tangential to hylomorphism. As to the paradox of Primary Essence being contained in Quiddity, the larger in the smaller, I have my own solution. The difficulty is always in not confusing Contingency with Accidence. Do you understand me?