Friday Night Questions........
The old bricks seem to breathe with a kind of remembered warmth, as though they have held many winters and still keep the murmur of voices within their mortar. Upon them rests the modest proclamation — Philosophy Meetings — a fragile invitation to wrestle with immensities on an ordinary Friday eve. How gently the commonplace dares the infinite.
The light, falling slant and pale, bestows a solemn grace upon the scene. It draws from the wall a darkened shape — a long, winged shadow that seems less cast than conjured. The mind delights in such fancies; for what is philosophy if not the poetry of questions?
Friday Night Questions........
The old bricks seem to breathe with a kind of remembered warmth, as though they have held many winters and still keep the murmur of voices within their mortar. Upon them rests the modest proclamation — Philosophy Meetings — a fragile invitation to wrestle with immensities on an ordinary Friday eve. How gently the commonplace dares the infinite.
The light, falling slant and pale, bestows a solemn grace upon the scene. It draws from the wall a darkened shape — a long, winged shadow that seems less cast than conjured. The mind delights in such fancies; for what is philosophy if not the poetry of questions?