It was demeaning to scrape affection from virtually everyone you encountered. That was immature.

As I walked briskly out the road the wind knifed at my face, but this sun caressed the back of my neck.

But I was used to finding something deadly in things that attracted me; there was always something deadly lurking in anything I wanted, anything I loved.

Nothing endures. Not a tree. Not love. Not even death by violence.

The next major advance in the health of the American people will be determined by what the individual is willing to do for himself.

As I said, this was my sarcastic summer. It was only long after that I recognized sarcasm as the protest of people who are weak.

But something held me back. Perhaps I was stopped by that level of feeling, deeper than thought, which contains the truth.