It's about time he turned up, I think. Excuse me
for talking about these trivialities. . . .
I have made a discovery: or I should say seen a vision. I saw it
between two cups of black coffee in a Gallic restaurant in Soho: but
I could not express it if I tried.
But this was one thing that it said--that all good things are one
thing. There is no conflict between the gravestone of Gertrude and a
comic-opera tune played by Mildred Wain. But there is everlasting
conflict between the gravestone of Gertrude and the obscene pomposity
of the hired mute: and there is everlasting conflict between the
comic-opera tune and any mean or vulgar words to which it may be set.
These, which man hath joined together, God shall most surely sunder.
That is what I am feeling . . . now every hour of the day. All good
things are one thing. Sunsets, schools of philosophy, babies,
constellations, cathedrals, operas, mountains, horses, poems--all
these are merely disguises.
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