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

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

Home may be where the heart is but it's no place to spend Wednesday afternoon.

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.

I sometimes think novelists write about sex in order to avoid boring themselves to death.

Jews wait for the Lord, Protestants sing hymns to him, Catholics say mass and eat him.

Not to be onto something is to be in despair.