A "Bay Area Bisexual" told me I didn't quite coincide with either of her desires.

The curtain rises on a vast primitive wasteland, not unlike certain parts of New jersey.

During the course of the year a number of ideas just come up automatically. I could be walking down the street. Or shaving. An idea will hit me and I'll write it down. Then, when I'm ready to write, I check my little matchbooks and napkins and find that it is good or it's pretty terrible. There are other times when I don't have any ideas and I'll go into a room and close the door and I sit and sweat it out for a day or a month and eventually I come up with [something].

Once munching has begun, Schopenhauer held, the human will cannot resist further munching, and the result is a universe with crumbs over everything.

I work all the time because it's a great distraction and it keeps me from sitting home and obsessing morbidly.

When I'm not working, I think and I think when I get depressed.

Astronomers say the universe is finite, which is a comforting thought for those people who can't remember where they leave things.