Everyone Shares The Same Fate.

Thoughts Are No More Than Electrical Surges In The Brain. Sexual Arousal Is No More Than A Flow Of Chemicals To Certain Nerve Endings. Sadness Is No More Than A Bit Of Acid Transfixed In The Cerebellum. In Short, The Body Is A Machine, Subject To The Same Laws Of Electricity And Mechanics As An Electron Or Clock.

In This World, Artists Are Joyous. Unpredictability Is The Life Of Their Paintings, Their Music, Their Novels. They Delight In Events Not Forecasted, Happenings Without Explanation, Retrospective.

It's Exciting Having A Student Who Is Not Used To Expressing Their Emotional Side And Bringing That Out In Them And See That Developing And Helping To Nurture That. That's An Exciting Thing. In A Class Of Fifteen There Are Usually Two Very Good Writers, Equal To Good Student Writers Anywhere In The Country. Those Two Make The Class Wonderful.

And At The Place Where Time Stands Still, One Sees Lovers Kissing In The Shadows Of Buildings, In A Frozen Embrace That Will Never Let Go. The Loved One Will Never Take His Arms From Where They Are Now, Will Never Give Back The Bracelet Of Memories, Will Never Journey Afar From His Lover, Will Never Place Himself In Danger Of Self-sacrifice, Will Never Fail To Show His Love, Will Never Become Jealous, Will Never Fall In Love With Someone Else, Will Never Lose The Passion Of This Instant Of Time.

You Say, "something Important Really Happened Here. I Really Had Hold Of Something I Was Visited By The Muse." And That's Enough To Make You Continue The Months And Years To Finish The Whole Book.