I Can Walk. It's Just That I'm

Mark My Words, When A Society Has To Resort To The Lavatory For Its Humour, The Writing Is On The Wall.

I've Never Seen The Point Of The Sea, Except Where It Meets The Land. The Shore Has A Point. The Sea Has None.

To Read Is To Withdraw.to Make Oneself Unavailable. One Would Feel Easier About It If The Pursuit Inself Were Less...selfish.

It's Subjunctive History. You Know, The Subjunctive? The Mood Used When Something May Or May Not Have Happened. When It Is Imagined.

I Tried To Explain To Her The Significance Of The Great Poet, But Without Much Success, The Waste Land Not Figuring Very Largely In Mam's Scheme Of Things. "the Thing Is," I Said Finally, "he Won The Nobel Prize." "well," She Said, With That Unerring Grasp Of Inessentials Which Is The Prerogative Of Mothers, "i'm Not Surprised. It Was A Beautiful Overcoat."