I Do Not Say Correct Or Savory.

Oh, To Be A Center Fielder, A Center Fielder- And Nothing More

The Secret To Living In The Rush Of The World With A Minimum Of Pain Is To Get As Many People As Possible To String Along With Your Delusions; The Trick To Living Alone Up Here, Away From All Agitating Entanglements, Allurements, And Expectations, Apart Especially From One's Own Intensity, Is To Organize The Silence, To Think Of Its Mountaintop Plenitude As Capital, Silence As Wealth Exponentially Increasing. The Encircling Silence As Your Chosen Source Of Advantage And Your Only Intimate.

Doctor, I Had Never Had Anybody Like Her In My Life, She Was The Fulfillment Of My Most Lascivious Adolescent Dreams– But Marry Her, Can She Be Serious? You See, For All Her Preening And Perfumes, She Has A Very Low Opinion Of Herself, And Simultaneously– And Here Is The Source Of Much Of Our Trouble-a Ridiculously High Opinion Of Me. And Simultaneously, A Very Low Opinion Of Me! She Is One Confused Monkey, And, I'm Afraid, Not Too Very Bright.

I Turn Sentences Around. That's My Life. I Write A Sentence And Then I Turn It Around. Then I Look At It And Turn It Around Again.

A Jew Without Jews, Without Judaism, Without Zionism, Without Jewishness, Without A Temple Or An Army Or Even A Pistol, A Jew Clearly Without A Home, Just The Object Itself, Like A Glass Or An Apple.