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

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.

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

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

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.

Absolutes are absolutely dangerous.

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