I'm Not Too Concerned What Happens To

Birds Were Like Dinosaurs' Better Selves. They Had Short Lives And Long Summers. We All Should Be So Lucky As To Leave Behind Such Heirs.

The World Was Ending Then, It's Ending Still, And I'm Happy To Belong To It Again.

Deploring Other People--their Lack Of Perfection--had Always Been Our Sport.

The Figure Of My Father Looms Large In My Imagination.

It Offended His Sense Of Himself, Because He Was An Individual From An Age Of Individuals, And A String Of Lights Was, Like Him, An Individual Thing. No Matter How Little The Thing Had Cost, To Throw It Away Was To Deny Its Value.