Our live experiences, fixed in aphorisms, stiffen into cold epigrams. Our heart’s blood, as we write it, turns to mere dull ink.
Continue ReadingJob plunges into a series of demands on and accusations of God which may be and indeed are epigrams of high intelligence, but are not noticeably patient.
Continue ReadingAnyone can tell the truth, but only very few of us can make epigrams.
Continue Reading