One Should Never Write Down Or Up

But Your Book Is Wrong, Mrs. Strunk, Says George, When It Tells You That Jim Is The Substitute I Found For A Real Son, A Real Kid Brother, A Real Husband, A Real Wife. Jim Wasn't A Substitute For Anything. And There Is No Substitute For Jim, If You'll Forgive My Saying So, Anywhere.

But Now Isn’t Simply Now. Now Is Also A Cold Reminder: One Whole Day Later Than Yesterday, One Year Later Than Last Year. Every Now Is Labeled With Its Date, Rendering All Past Nows Obsolete, Until — Later Of Sooner — Perhaps — No, Not Perhaps — Quite Certainly: It Will Come.

What It Sees There Isn't So Much A Face As The Expression Of A Predicament.

Life Is Not So Bad If You Have Plenty Of Luck, A Good Physique, And Not Too Much Imagination.

I Am A Camera With Its Shutter Open, Quite Passive, Recording, Not Thinking.