Everyone Is Born Into A Certain Era.

In General, I Agree With Jacob Grimm And Feel That We Ought To Permit Changes And Uncontrolled Growth In Language. Even Though That Also Allows Potentially Threatening New Words To Develop, Language Needs The Chance To Constantly Renew Itself.

I Had An Uncle Who Was A Postal Official At The Polish Post Office In Gdansk. He Was One Of The Defenders Of The Polish Postal Service And, After It Capitulated, Was Shot By The Germans Under The Provisions Of Martial Law. Suddenly He Was No Longer A Member Of The Family, And We Were No Longer Allowed To Play With His Children.

What Novel - Or What Else In The World - Can Have The Epic Scope Of A Photograph Album? May Our Father In Heaven, The Untiring Amateur Who Each Sunday Snaps Us From Above, At An Unfortunate Angle That Makes For Hideous Foreshortening, And Pastes Our Pictures, Properly Exposed Or Not, In His Album, Guide Me Safely Through This Album Of Mine.

Granted: I Am An Inmate Of A Mental Hospital; My Keeper Is Watching Me, He Never Lets Me Out Of His Sight; There's A Peep-hole In The Door, And My Keeper's Eye Is The Shade Of Brown That Can Never See Through A Blue-eyed Type Like Me.

Love That’s It: The Cashless Commerce. The Blanket Always Too Short. The Loose Connexion. To Search Behind The Horizon. To Brush Fallen Leaves With Four Shoes And In One’s Mind To Rub Bare Feet. To Let And Rent Hearts; Or In A Room With Shower And Mirror, In A Hired Car, Bonnet Facing The Moon, Wherever Innocence Stops And Burns Its Programme, The Word In Falsetto Sounds Different And New Each Time. Today, In Front Of A Box Office Not Yet Open, Hand In Hand Crackled The Hangdog Old Man And The Dainty Old Woman. The Film Promised Love.