My mother refused to let me fail. So I insisted.

My mother refused to let me fail. So I insisted.

I had discovered that a person does not have to be this or be that or be anything, not even oneself. One is free.

For some time now the impression has been growing upon me that everyone is dead. It happens when I speak to people. In the middle of a sentence it will come over me: yes, beyond a doubt this is death. There is little to do but groan and make an excuse and slip away as quickly as one can.

I like to eat crawfish and drink beer. That's despair?

Small disconnected facts, if you take note of them, have a way of becoming connected.

Why is it that one can look at a lion or a planet or an owl or at someone's finger as long as one pleases, but looking into the eyes of another person is, if prolonged past a second, a perilous affair?