"The flowers cool from the on-going fires, the beginning-death of nature, into another warmth of the confession of the sin of picking, a warmth that is insularand yet is a secret bondage with the human hand, the ally of the blooming--the fulfillment--the entelechia of the flower. The counter of the plucking is the arranging, the arranging that takes place (wonderful phrase, takes place!) between streaming fingers. Rather than arranging, could we say weaving? The flowers, now having found each other again in the vase, can we see the basket?"

-From a 1980 Friday night lecture by Thomas Harris entitled "Work"

Thomas Harris sure was most exceptionally crazy. This is the second essay of his I've looked at here at the library, and neither one at any point even began to make sense. Going to his lectures must have been like having someone read Finnegan's Wake without even knowing English.