An Unhappy Mother Does Not Raise A

Augustine, Anne Sexton And Sylvia Plath Are Confessional Writers And All Three Make Me Sick. I Have Nothing In Common With Them.

I Don't Understand Why Europeans And South Americans Can Take More Sophistication. Why Is It That Americans Need To Hear Their Happiness Major And Their Tragedy Minor, And As Jazzy As They Can Handle Is A Seventh Chord? Are They Not Experiencing Complex Emotions?

I Know My Generation - A Lot Of Them, They're Getting Old Now, And They Want To Think Back Fondly, They Want To Kid Themselves. A Lot Of Them Think, 'yeah, We Were The Best.' That's The Kiss Of Death. That's Non-growth. And Also That's Very Bad For The World.

The Thing That Gave Me The Most Pain In Life, Psychologically, And It Gave Me Tremendous Pain Psychologically, Is Man's Disrespect For Nature.

A Little Lawyer On The Tube, He Said, Its So Easy Now, Anyone Can Sue.