Life Is Fits And Starts, Mostly Fits.

But What Physician Has Not Had Patients Who Don't Make Any Sense At All? To Tell The Truth, They're Our Stock-in-trade. We Talk And Write About The Ones We Can Make Sense Of.

I Sometimes Think Novelists Write About Sex In Order To Avoid Boring Themselves To Death.

Have You Noticed That Only In Time Of Illness Or Disaster Or Death Are People Real? I Remember At The Time Of The Wreck-- People Were So Kind And Helpful And Solid. Everyone Pretended That Our Lives Until That Moment Had Been Every Bit As Real As The Moment Itself And That The Future Must Be Real Too, When The Truth Was That Our Reality Had Been Purchased Only By Lyell's Death. In Another Hour Or So We Had All Faded Out Again And Gone Our Dim Ways.

If Poets Often Commit Suicide, It Is Not Because Their Poems Are Bad But Because They Are Good. Whoever Heard Of A Bad Poet Committing Suicide? The Reader Is Only A Little Better Off. The Exhilaration Of A Good Poem Lasts Twenty Minutes, An Hour At Most. Unlike The Scientist, The Artist Has Reentry Problems That Are Frequent And Catastrophic.

This Midwestern Sky Is The Nakedest Loneliest Sky In America. To Escape It, People Live Inside And Underground.