I'd Rather Be A Lightning Rod Than

When Shakespeare Was Writing, He Wasn't Writing For Stuff To Lie On The Page; It Was Supposed To Get Up And Move Around.

I Sometimes Have These Spells Of Compulsive Truth. But As Lady Macbeth Would Say, "the Fit Is Momentary."

To Be Just Without Being Mad (and The Madder You Get The Madder You Get), To Be Peaceful Without Being Stupid, To Be Interested Without Being Compulsive, To Be Happy Without Being Hysterical... Smoke Grass.

Of Offering More Than What I Can Deliver, I Have A Bad Habit, It Is True. But I Have To Offer More Than I Can Deliver, To Be Able To Deliver What I Do.

But If The Strength Ain't Real, I Recall Thinking The Very Last Thing That Day, Before I Finally Passed Out, Then The Weakness Sure Enough Is. Weakness Is True And Real. I Used To Accuse The Kid Of Faking His Weakness. But Faking Proves The Weakness Is Real. Or You Wouldn't Be So Weak As To Fake It. No, You Can't Ever Fake Being Weak. You Can Only Fake Being Strong. . .