I Still Have Some Of My Old

All Our Lives Are Symbols. Everything We Do Is Part Of A Pattern We Have At Least Some Say In. The Strong Make Their Own Patterns And Influence Other People's, The Weak Have Their Courses Mapped Out For Them. The Weak And The Unlucky, And The Stupid.

My Gratitude Extends Beyond The Limits Of My Capacity To Express It.

Perdition Awaits At The End Of A Road Constructed Entirely From Good Intentions, The Devil Emerges From The Details And Hell Abides In The Small Print.

I'm A Devoted Husband. That Must Strike You As Totally Deviant.

Any Such Inklings Were Like A Few Scattered Grains Of Truth Dissolved In An Ocean Of Nonsense, And Were Anyway Generally Inextricably Bound Up With Patently Paranoid Ravings Which Served Only To Devalue The Small Amounts Of Sense And Pertinence With Which They Were Associated.