I'm Not Sure If You're The Person

I Never Bought The Idea Of Individual Genius From Which The Novel Spews Forth. It's Always An Act Of Curation.

If Religion Is The Opiate Of The People, Tradition Is An Even More Sinister Analgesic, Simply Because It Rarely Appears Sinister. If Religion Is A Tight Band, A Throbbing Vein, And A Needle, Tradition Is A Far Homelier Concoction: Poppy Seeds Ground Into Tea; A Sweet Cocoa Drink Laced With Cocaine; The Kind Of Thing Your Grandmother Might Have Made.

You Say You Want To Talk, But You Don't . You Stonewall Me.

...despite All This, It Is Still Hard To Admit That There Is No One More English Than The Indian, No One More Indian Than The English. There Are Still Young White Men Who Are Angry About That; Who Will Roll Out At Closing Time Into The Poorly Lit Streets With A Kitchen Knife Wrapped In A Tight Fist. But It Makes An Immigrant Laugh To Hear The Fears Of The Nationalist, Scared Of Infection, Penetration, Miscegenation, When This Is Small Fry, Peanuts, Compared To What The Immigrant Fears - Dissolution, Disappearance.

Under Every Friendship There Is A Difficult Sentence That Must Be Said, In Order That The Friendship Can Be Survived.