Believe It Or Not, Perhaps I Don't

I'm Finding It Increasingly Difficult To Simply Walk Down The Street. In New York, I Dashed In To Buy A Big Pair Of Sunglasses To Conceal Myself, But The Guy Behind The Counter Shouted 'hey! It's Dr. House.'

I Admit I Can't Shake The Idea That There Is Virtue In Suffering, That There Is A Sort Of Psychic Economy, Whereby If You Embrace Success, Happiness And Comfort, These Things Have To Be Paid For.

Piano Was - Well, All Musical Instruments Were Taught In This Very Rigid, Formal, Classical Method When I Was Young.

I Was Shown Into A Room. A Red Room. Red Wallpaper, Red Curtains, Red Carpet. They Said It Was A Sitting-room, But I Don’t Know Why They’d Decided To Confine Its Purpose Just To Sitting. Obviously, Sitting Was One Of The Things You Could Do In A Room This Size; But You Could Also Stage Operas, Hold Cycling Races, And Have An Absolutely Cracking Game Of Frisbee, All At The Same Time, Without Having To Move Any Of The Furniture. It Could Rain In A Room This Big.

It Was The Sheer Variety Of The Pain That Stopped Me From Crying Out. It Came From So Many Places, Spoke So Many Languages, Wore So Many Dazzling Varieties Of Ethnic Costume, That For A Full Fifteen Seconds I Could Only Hang My Jaw In Amazement.