You know, exams are like war -- the birth rate of ideas goes up. Anything to keep from this dismal regimen, says poor mind, and hopefully tosses up another distraction.

Being, I imagine, must be very simple. It is Becoming which is so messy and which I am all for.

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

Absolutes are absolutely dangerous.

Evil is the voltage of good; the urge to goodness, without the potential of evil, is trivial.

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

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.