One Of The Very Few Reasons I

The Sikh Gave Him The Money. When Menon Asked For His Address So That He Could Repay The Man, The Sikh Said That Menon Owed The Debt To Any Stranger Who Came To Him In Need, As Long As He Lived. The Help Came From A Stranger And Was To Be Repaid To A Stranger.

Public Lives Are Lived Out On The Job And In The Marketplace, Where Certain Rules, Conventions, Laws, And Social Customs Keep Most Of Us In Line. Private Lives Are Lived Out In The Presence Of Family, Friends, And Neighbors Who Must Be Considered And Respected Even Though The Rules And Proscriptions Are Looser Than What's Allowed In Public. But In Our Secret Lives, Inside Our Own Heads, Almost Anything Goes.

I Get Tired Of Hearing It's A Crummy World And That People Are No Damned Good. What Kind Of Talk Is That? I Know A Place In Payette, Idaho, Where A Cook And A Waitress And A Manager Put Everything They've Got Into Laying A Chicken-fried Steak On You.

For Thirty Years Now, In Times Of Stress And Strain, When Something Has Me Backed Against The Wall And I'm Ready To Do Something Really Stupid With My Anger, A Sorrowful Face Appears In My Mind And Asks... "problem Or Inconvenience?" I Think Of This As The Wollman Test Of Reality. Life Is Lumpy. And A Lump In The Oatmeal, A Lump In The Throat, And A Lump In The Breast Are Not The Same Lump. One Should Learn The Difference.

An Artists Job Is To See. And To Go Out In The World And See It Firsthand, Just As It Is; To Report With Line And Words What Is Seen. To Be In The World, Not Just Study About The World, That Is The Artists Task