On A Related Subject, Signore Pazzi, I

In The Vaults Of Our Hearts And Brains, Danger Waits. All The Chambers Are Not Lovely, Light And High. There Are Holes In The Floor Of The Mind, Like Those In A Medieval Dungeon Floor - The Stinking Oubliettes, Named For Forgetting, Bottle-shaped Cells In Solid Rock With The Trapdoor In The Top. Nothing Escapes From Them Quietly To Ease Us. A Quake, Some Betrayal By Our Safeguards, And Sparks Of Memory Fire The Noxious Gases - Things Trapped For Years Fly Free, Ready To Explode In Pain And Drive Us To Dangerous Behavior.

It Occured To Starling How Much Roden Would Benefit From An Elbow Smash In The Hinge Of His Jaw.

Whenever Feasible, One Should Always Try To Eat The Rude.

He Moves Smoothly And Slowly, Carrying His Concentration Like A Brimming Cup.

The Worm That Destroys You Is The Temptation To Agree With Your Critics, To Get Their Approval.