Totem poles and wooden masks no longer suggest tribal villages but fashionable drawing rooms in New York and Paris.
A sense of absurdity interferes with my efforts to appear venerable.
The critical spirit never knows when to stop meddling.
Don Juan tries not to see the skeptical winks that greet his boasting.
Avant-garde art jousts with propriety, but takes care never to unseat it.
The aphorism: a platitude that swerves, or slides all the way around.