f you had been a guest in my home this past week, you and I would have been driven out of bed at 3 a.m. one morning by the incessant, irritating chirping of a dying smoke alarm detector, high on the kitchen wall: eeenk . . . . eeenk . . . . eeenk. . . eeenk . . .eeenk . . . . AAARGH, DAMN!
. . .The whole Universe is still expanding, so say the astronomers. The landmass under my feet is moving west at the rate of half an inch a year. The sea floor is still spreading. Nothing is holding still – every atom in existence is whirling away in relentless motion.
. . .Fleeting beauty is always poetic, but flowers are dead on arrival – a fading, fugitive, momentary gesture.
An onion, on the other hand, is not only beautiful; it is useful and contains lasting possibility – magic and mystery and miracle. . .
. . . a little boy – 5 maybe. . . has drawn a picture of mountains on either side of a valley that has a river running through it. Now he has added a rainbow, also drawn in pencil, and he is ready to fill in between the lines with colors. He pauses. Looks up at you and asks: “Which color goes on the top?”
This Museum has some unique qualities. It is completely private and personal – never ever open to the public. Each human brain Museum is unique – no two exactly alike.
. . .our interest in sports and games is seldom rational or conscious. It’s idiosyncratic – specific to the individual person. To each his own, with acceptance, not disapproval. That’s why I can tell you about Sumo and Hakuho Sho.