She Was What We Used To Call

Is Our Species Crazy? Plenty Of Evidence.

I Blame Myself For Not Often Enough Seeing The Extraordinary In The Ordinary. Somewhere In His Journals, Dostoyevky Remarks That A Writer Can Begin Anywhere, At The Most Commonplace Thing, Scratch Around In It Long Enough, Pry And Dig Away Long Enough, And Lo!, Soon He Will Hit Upon The Marvelous.

The Soul Has To Find And Hold Its Ground Against Hostile Forces, Sometimes Embodied In Ideas Which Frequently Deny Its Very Existence, And Which Indeed Often Seem To Be Trying To Annul It Altogether.

All A Writer Has To Do To Get A Woman Is To Say He's A Writer. It's An Aphrodisiac.

Alternatives, And Particularly Desirable Alternatives, Grow Only On Imaginary Trees.