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

Have you noticed that only in time of illness or disaster or death are people real?

Nothing remains but desire, and desire comes howling down Elysian Fields like a mistral.

Why is it that no other species but man gets bored? Under the circumstances in which a man gets bored, a dog goes to sleep.

The so-called sexual revolution is not, as advertised, a liberation of sexual behavior but rather its reversal. In former days, even under Victoria, sexual intercourse was the natural end and culmination of heterosexual relations. Now one begins with genital overtures instead of a handshake, then waits to see what will turn up (e.g., might become friends later). Like dogs greeting each other nose to tail and tail to nose.

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

Other people, so I have read, treasure memorable moments in their lives: the time one climbed the Parthenon at sunrise, the summer night one met a lonely girl in Central Park and achieved with her a sweet and natural relationship, as they say in books. I too once met a girl in Central Park, but it is not much to remember. What I remember is the time John Wayne killed three men with a carbine as he was falling to the dusty street in Stagecoach, and the time the kitten found Orson Welles in the doorway in The Third Man.