At One Campus Where I Was Lecturing,

I Am A Camera With Its Shutter Open, Quite Passive, Recording, Not Thinking.

At One Campus Where I Was Lecturing, I Asked A Friend, "how Many Of My Colleagues Know I'm Gay?" He Answered, "all Of Them." I Wasn't Surprised. But, Just The Same, It Was Kind Of Spooky, Because Not One Of Them Had Ever Given Me The Faintest Sign That He Or She Knew. If I Had Spoken About It Myself, Most Of Them Would Have Felt It Was In Bad Taste.

These Books Have Not Made George Nobler Or Better Or More Truly Wise. It Is Just That He Likes Listening To Their Voices, The One Or The Other, Acording To His Mood. He Misuses Them Quite Ruthlessly - Despite The Respectful Way He Has To Talk About Them In Public - To Put Him To Bed, To Take His Mind Off The Hands Of The Clock, To Relax The Nagging Of His Pyloric Spasm, To Gossip Him Out Of His Melancholy, To Trigger The Conditioned Reflexes Of His Colon.

I Am Alive, He Says To Himself, I Am Alive! And Life Energy Surges Hotly Through Him, And Delight, And Appetite. How Good To Be In A Body - Even This Old Beat-up Carcass - That Still Has Warm Blood And Live Semen And Rich Marrow And Wholesome Flesh!

I Doubt If One Ever Accepts A Belief Until One Urgently Needs It.