Emotions Really Exist At The Bottom Of

Every Artist Is An Unhappy Lover. And Unhappy Lovers Want To Tell Their Story.

Music Relates Sound And Time And So Pictures The Ultimate Edges Of Human Commmunications.

But Fantasy Kills Imagination, Pornography Is Death To Art.

Trains Induce Such Terrible Anxiety. They Image The Possibility Of Total And Irrevocable Failure. They Are Also Dirty, Rackety, Packed With Strangers, An Object Lesson In The Foul Contingency Of Life: The Talkative Fellow-traveller, The Possibility Of Children.

Of Course Men Play Roles, But Women Play Roles Too, Blanker Ones. They Have, In The Play Of Life, Fewer Good Lines.