Wrote with Love is a garden. it is every flower and blade of grass growing in that garden, every worm, man and ram living in that garden and it is the last words of every life that has ended in the shade of its trees. It is the print left by the hand of countless visitors
Wednesday, June 10
Innocently dishonest knowledge
How can we trust what we know When everything we know Depends so heavily on what we know Interpreting knowledge with interpreted knowledge.
