But Your Book Is Wrong, Mrs. Strunk,

To Live Sanely In Los Angeles ... You Have To Cultivate The Art Of Staying Awake. You Must Learn To Resist (firmly But Not Tensely) The Unceasing Hypnotic Suggestions Of The Radio, The Billboards, The Movies And The Newspapers; Those Demon Voices Which Are Forever Whispering In Your Ear What You Should Desire, What You Should Fear, What You Should Wear And Eat And Drink And Enjoy, What You Should Think And Do And Be.

California Is A Tragic Country — Like Palestine, Like Every Promised Land. Its Short History Is A Fever-chart Of Migrations — The Land Rush, The Gold Rush, The Oil Rush, The Movie Rush, The Okie Fruit-picking Rush, The Wartime Rush To The Aircraft Factories — Followed, In Each Instance, By Counter-migrations Of The Disappointed And Unsuccessful, Moving Sorrowfully Homeward.

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.

Only Those Who Are Capable Of Silliness Can Be Called Truly Intelligent.

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