Best Not To Anticipate Too Much ...

"how Does One Conquer Fear, Don B.?" "one Takes A Frog And Sews It To One's Shoe," He Said. "the Left Or The Right?" Don B. Gave Me A Pitying Look. "well, You'd Look Mighty Funny Going Down The Street With Only One Frog Sewed To Your Shoes, Wouldn't You?" He Said. "one Frog On Each Shoe."

--why Are We Fighting Them? --they're Mad. We're Sane. --how Do We Know? --that We're Sane? --yes. --am I Sane? --to All Appearances. --and You, Do You Consider Yourself Sane? --i Do. --well, There You Have It. --but Don't They Also Consider Themselves Sane? --i Think They Know. Deep Down. That They're Not Sane. --how Must That Make Them Feel? --terrible, I Should Think. They Must Fight Ever More Fiercely, In Order To Deny What They Know To Be True. That They Are Not Sane.

Endings Are Elusive, Middles Are Nowhere To Be Found, But Worst Of All Is To Begin, To Begin, To Begin.

Now It Is Necessary To Court Her, And Win Her, And Put On This Clean Dressing Gown, And Cut My Various Nails, And Drink Something That Will Kill The Millions Of Germs In My Mouth, And Say Something Flattering, And Be Witty And Bonny, And Hale And Kinky, All Just To Ease This Wrinkle In The Groin. It Seems A High Price.

The Self Cannot Be Escaped, But It Can Be, With Ingenuity And Hard Work, Distracted.