Literature Is Humanity's Broad-minded Alter-ego, With Room

Once You've Stopped Loving Someone Breaking His Or Her Heart's Just An Unpleasant Chore You Have To Get Behind You. My God, You Really Don't Love Me Anymore, Do You? No Matter Your Decency The Victim's Incredulity's Potentially Hilarious. You Manage Not To Laugh.

The First Horror Is There's Horror. The Second Is You Accommodate It.

When I See Gurgling Retarded Children (that's God's Doing, By The Way, Not Mine) Happily Styling Their Hair With Their Own Stinking Mards, I Think Of Adam In Those Pre-marital Days. I Know He's Your Great-to-the-nth-degree-granddad And All - But I'm Afraid He Was Rather An Imbecile.

Time, You'll Be Pleased To Know--and Since One Must Start Somewhere--was Created In Creation. The Question What Was There Before Creation? Is Meaningless. Time Is A Property Of Creation, Therefore Before Creation There Was No Before Creation.

Every Now And Then Life Sold You An Illusion Of Design. A Coincidence, A Parallel, A Sledgehammer Symbol. The Goods Were Always Faulty. You Forked Over The Cash Only To Discover They'd Fallen Apart By The Time You Got Home. But Life Kept At It. Life Couldn't Help It. Life Was A Compulsive Salesman.