Good Writin' Ain't Necessarily Good Readin'.

Truth Doesn't Run On Time Like A Commuter Train.

It Isn't By Getting Out Of The World That We Become Enlightened, But By Getting Into The World…by Getting So Tuned In That We Can Ride The Waves Of Our Existence And Never Get Tossed Because We Become The Waves.

Then The Trembling Starts To Get Worse. This Must Be How They Begin, He Thinks. Freak-outs. Breakdowns. Crack-ups. Eventually Shut-ins And Finally Cross-offs. But First The Cover-up . . .

Then - As He Was Talking - A Set Of Tail-lights Going Past Lit Up Mcmurphy's Face, And The Windshield Reflected An Expression That Was Allowed Only Because He Figured It'd Be Too Dark For Anybody In The Car To See, Dreadfully Tired And Strained And Frantic, Like There Wasn't Enough Time Left For Something He Had To Do.

You Seem To Forget, Miss Flinn, That This Is An Institution For The Insane.