I cannot teach -- if I teach as teaching should be I become so exhausted I nearly die, I seem to have no middle gear.

You can understand why a system would seek information - but why in hell does it offer information? Why do we strive to be understood? Why is a refusal to accept communication so painful?

I am one of those that always get accidentally guillotined when the Great Day of Liberation comes, because ... I guess ... I am full of parentheses. Revolutions can't abide parentheses.

Passing in any crowd are secret people whose hidden response to beauty is the desire to tear it into bleeding meat.

And here is our girl, looking-- If possible, worse than before. (You thought this was Cinderella transistorized?)

The only way I can possibly heat my so-called mind up to working temperature is to imagine I'm talking to someone I admire.

Did you ever look into the personalities of male cooks, Army, logging camp, etc.? They're all supposed to be crazy, incomprehensible, contemptible. And angry. The act of feeding adult males seems to have strange personality effects.