May You Be Ordinary, As The Poet

There's Nothing Wrong With Being A Genius Who Can Fascinate The Young. Rather, There's Something Wrong With The Young Who Can't Be Fascinated By A Genius.

In My Terms, I Settled For The Realities Of Life, And Submitted To Its Necessities: If This, Then That, And So The Years Passed. In Adrian's Terms, I Gave Up On Life, Gave Up On Examining It, Took It As It Came. And So, For The First Time, I Began To Feel A More General Remorse - A Feeling Somewhere Between Self-pity And Self-hatred - About My Whole Life. All Of It. I Had Lost The Friends Of My Youth. I Had Lost The Love Of My Wife. I Had Abandoned The Ambitions I Had Entertained. I Had Wanted Life Not To Bother Me Too Much, And Had Succeeded - And How Pitiful That Was.

Yes, Of Course We Were Pretentious -- What Else Is Youth For?

When We're Young, Everyone Over The Age Of Thirty Looks Middle-aged, Everyone Over Fifty Antique. And Time, As It Goes By, Confirms That We Weren't That Wrong. Those Little Age Differentials, So Crucial And So Gross When We Are Young Erode. We End Up All Belonging To The Same Category, That Of The Non-young. I've Never Much Minded This Myself.

What Is The Easiest, The Most Comfortable Thing For A Writer To Do? To Congratulate The Society In Which He Lives: To Admire Its Biceps, Applaud Its Progress, Tease It Endearingly About Its Follies.