Universal truths have become an embarrassment, but they won't quite go away.

The world needs an enema.

The avant-garde is now stranded in the past.

To avoid taking responsibility, I become unresponsive but hang on until the other person leaves me.

In New York, pretending to be above the struggle means no seat on the bus and a table next to the kitchen.

The self-righteous feel no need to be charming, and thus double their offensiveness.

Shaw writes as if it were always midday.