One Knows One's Madnesses, By And Large.

Bliss Defies Description, Obviously, Since It Annihilates You, Since You're Not There To Experience It. You Get The Lead-up And The Come-down, Never The Zenith.

This Is Love: You Stop Bothering About The Universal, The General, Get Sucked Instead Into The Local And Particular: When Will I See Her Again? What Shall We Do Today? Do You Like These Shoes? Theory And Reflection Are Delicate Old Uncles Bustled Out Of The Way By The Boisterous Nephews Action And Desire. Themes Evaporate, Only Plot Remains.

No Artist Knows Everything... But Since Every Artist Knows More Than He Can Tell, All Art Is Lying By Omission.

Coffee Justifies The Existence Of The Word 'aroma'.

One Develops An Instinct For Letting Silence Do The Heavy Lifting. In The Three, Four, Five Seconds That Passed Without Either Of Us Speaking, The Many Ways The Conversation Could Go Came And Went Like Time-lapse Film Of Flowers Blooming And Dying.