Words matter. Especially ones with four letters.
In the good mystery there is nothing wasted, no sentence, no word that is not significant.
If I have something to say, I want it to be meaningful.
If one were to say but few words, though ones with meaning, one would do better than to say many that were only empty sounds, and just as easy to utter as they were of little use.
Some words were like that. Whole lives attached to them. Ghosts and lives and ecstasy and sorrow.
The words which express our faith and piety are not definite; yet they are significant and fragrant like frankincense to superior natures.
The little words in the Republic of Letters, like the little folks in a nation, are the most useful and significant.
All of us encounter, at least once in our life, some individual who utters words that make us think forever. There are men whose phrases are oracles; who condense in one sentence the secrets of life; who blurt out an aphorism that forms a character or illustrates an existence.
Don't tell me words don't matter.
Certain words now in our knowledge we will not use again, and we will never forget them. We need them. Like the back of the picture.
We are so used to releasing words, we don't know what to do with them if they stay. No matter how many times we let them go, they come back. The words that matter always stay.
