I Have No Television - I Hate

But There Were Too Many Points At Which The Other Self Could Invade The Self He Wanted To Preserve, And There Were Too Many Forms Of Invasion: Certain Words, Sounds, Lights, Actions His Hands Or Feet Performed, And If He Did Nothing At All, Heard And Saw Nothing, The Shouting Of Some Triumphant Inner Voice That Shocked Him And Cowed Him.

One Situation – Maybe One Alone – Could Drive Me To Murder: Family Life, Togetherness.

January. It Was All Things. And It Was One Thing, Like A Solid Door. Its Cold Sealed The City In A Gray Capsule. January Was Moments, And January Was A Year. January Rained The Moments Down, And Froze Them In Her Memory: [...]every Human Action Seemed To Yield A Magic. January Was A Two-faced Month, Jangling Like Jester's Bells, Crackling Like Snow Crust, Pure As Any Beginning, Grim As An Old Man, Mysteriously Familiar Yet Unknown, Like A Word One Can Almost But Not Quite Define.

I Think People Often Try To Find Through Sex Things That Are Much Easier To Find In Other Ways.

They Were Not Friends. They Didn't Know Each Other. It Struck Tom Like A Horrible Truth, True For All Time, True For The People He Had Known In The Past And For Those He Would Know In The Future: Each Had Stood And Would Stand Before Him, And He Would Know Time And Time Again That He Would Never Know Them, And The Worst Was That There Would Always Be The Illusion, For A Time, That He Did Know Them, And That He And They Were Completely In Harmony And Alike. For An Instant The Wordless Shock Of His Realization Seemed More Than He Could Bear.