from a letter he wrote to Robert Cunninghame Graham
"Life knows us not and we do not know life - we don't even know our own thoughts. Half the words we use have no meaning whatever and of the other half each man understands each word after the fashion of his own folly and conceit. Faith is a myth, and beliefs shift like mists on the shore; thoughts vanish; words, once pronounced, die; and the memory of yesterday is as shadowy as the hope of tomorrow."
I'm not sure where I found this, it seems to to have been loitering on my desktop for an age so I thought it best to save it up here. This blog seems to have become a sort of a clippings journal.
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