It is all a matter of the moment’s mores,
Of words on wood pulp, of radios roaring,
Of Communist kindergartens or first communions.
Only in the knowledge of his own Essence
Has any man ceased to be many monkeys.
— Aldous Huxley, Ape and Essence
In her cheeks the dimples emerge from the long hibernation of her sorrow.
Most ignorant of what he is most assured, our poor friend doesn’t know.