pith…

The Origin of Species
The Birth of Tragedy
The Ascent of Man
The Subject of Tragedy
The Art of Telling
The Story of Art
The Art of Living
The Dehumanization of Art
The Concept of Mind
The Art of Argument
The Character of Mind
The Anatomy of Inquiry
The Identity of Man
The Moment of Proof
The Pursuit of Signs
The Sign of Three
The Thread of Life
The Loom of Language
The Language of Life
The Labyrinth of Solitude
The Shape of Light
The Language of Inquiry
The Image of Eternity
The Grammar of Fantasy
The Art of Poetry
The Power of the Center
The Structure of Appearance
The Anatomy of Memory
The Nature of Rationality
The Rhetoric of Fiction
The Firmament of Time
The Practice of Philosophy
The Street of Crocodiles
The Process of Thinking
The Size of Thoughts
The Claim of Reason
The Refutation of Scepticism
The Chain of Chance
The Situation of Poetry
The Art of Hunger
The Castle of Indolence
The Book of Sand
The Principle of Water
The Art of Drowning

I have come to see the glass as half full, but it’s a dribble glass.

It has always seemed to me that life is just killing time between meals. This has recently been confirmed.

I have, on occasion, felt a real sense of community. Fortunately, those occasions have been infrequent and brief.

I know the alphabet. Of course I know the damn alphabet. Nevertheless, I was recently surprised by M’s close proximity to K.

I am the court jester, the maxim molester,
sardonic magician deriding tradition.
My scepter is a cattle prod.
I know my job. I unmask gods.