Irony Is The Attendant Of Hope And

I Am Working On A Book Urging The Beating To Death Of Baby Whales Using The Dead Bodies Of Baby Seals.

Anyone Telling About His Travels Must Be A Liar, . . . For If A Traveler Doesn't Visit His Narrative With The Spirit And Techniques Of Fiction, No One Will Want To Hear It.

Americans Are The Only People In The World Known To Me Whose Status Anxiety Prompts Them To Advertise Their College And University Affiliations In The Rear Window Of Their Automobiles.

All The Pathos And Irony Of Leaving One's Youth Behind Is Thus Implicit In Every Joyous Moment Of Travel: One Knows That The First Joy Can Never Be Recovered, And The Wise Traveller Learns Not To Repeat Successes But Tries New Places All The Time.

To Get Home You Had To End The War. To End The War Was The Reason You Fought It. The Only Reason.