What You See Is What

Literature Doesn't Have A Country. Shakespeare Is An African Writer. His Falstaff, For Example, Is Very African In His Appetite For Life, His Largeness Of Spirit. The Characters Of Turgenev Are Ghetto Dwellers. Dickens Characters Are Nigerians.

We Plan Our Lives According To A Dream That Came To Us In Our Childhood, And We Find That Life Alters Our Plans. And Yet, At The End, From A Rare Height, We Also See That Our Dream Was Our Fate. It's Just That Providence Had Other Ideas As To How We Would Get There. Destiny Plans A Different Route, Or Turns The Dream Around, As If It Were A Riddle, And Fulfills The Dream In Ways We Couldn't Have Expected.

Don't Neglect The Gold In Your Own Back Yard.

The Worst Realities Of Our Age Are Manufactured Realities. It Is Therefore Our Task, As Creative Participants In The Universe, To Re Dream Our World. The Fact Of Possessing Imagination Means That Everything Can Be Re Dreamed. Each Reality Can Have It

There Is A Kind Of Expressed Love Which Is Easy To Subvert. When A Figure Is Loved For Their Deeds, Their Conquests, Their Heroism, Their Goodness, Their Love Of The People, These Are Easy Enough To Destroy... But There Is A Kind Of Love Which Is Felt For Apparently No Reason... A Love, Inspired, It Seems, By The Gods, Which It Is Impossible To Fight, Distort, Destroy, Or Weaken. In Fact, The Attempts To Destroy Such Loves Only Strengthen Them. And To Do Nothing Allows Them To Continue To Grow At Their Natural Pace, Inexoribly, Till This Love Becomes A Wide And Silent Adoration.