Most People Muddled Through Events And Only

The Great Thing About Writing Compared To Life Is Getting To Tie Things Up.

Sometimes I Would Like To Cry. I Close My Eyes. Why Weren't We Designed So That We Can Close Our Ears As Well? (perhaps Because We Would Never Open Them.) Is There Some Way That I Could Accelerate My Evolution And Develop Earlids?

Sylvie's Knowledge, Like Izzie's, Was Random Yet Far-ranging, 'the Sign That One Has Acquired One's Learning From Reading Novels Rather Than An Education.

I Think About Death A Lot, I Really Do, Because I Can't Believe I Won't Exist. It's The Ego Isn't It? I Feel That I Should Retreat Into A Better Form Of Zen Buddhism Than This Kind Of Ego-dominated Thing. But I Don't Know, I Mean, I Want To Come Back As A Tree But I Suspect That It's Just Not Going To Happen, Is It?

Certainly I Had A Really Terrible Time With 'emotionally Weird.' When I Finished It, I Thought, 'i Can't Write Any More.