'show Up At The Desk' Is One

Suppose Within Each Book There Is Another Book, And Within Every Letter On Every Page Another Volume Constantly Unfolding; But These Volumes Take No Space On The Desk. Suppose Knowledge Could Be Reduced To A Quintessence, Held Within A Picture, A Sign, Held Within A Place Which Is No Place. Suppose The Human Skull Were To Become Capacious, Spaces Opening Inside It, Humming Chambers Like Beehives.

He Once Thought It Himself, That He Might Die With Grief: For His Wife, His Daughters, His Sisters, His Father And Master The Cardinal. But Pulse, Obdurate, Keeps Its Rhythm. You Think You Cannot Keep Breathing, But Your Ribcage Has Other Ideas, Rising And Falling, Emitting Sighs. You Must Thrive In Spite Of Yourself; And So That You May Do It, God Takes Out Your Heart Of Flesh, And Gives You A Heart Of Stone.

Truth Can Break The Gates Down, Truth Can Howl In The Street; Unless Truth Is Pleasing, Personable And Easy To Like, She Is Condemned To Stay Whimpering At The Back Door.

When I Was Thin, I Had No Notion Of What Being Fat Is Like. When I Worked In A Department Store, I Had Sold Clothes To Women Of Most Sizes, So I Should Have Known; But Perhaps You Have To Experience The State From The Inside, To Understand What Fat Is Like.

As Danton Sees It, The Most Bizarre Aspect Of Camille's Character Is His Desire To Scribble Over Every Blank Surface; He Sees A Guileless Piece Of Paper, Virgin And Harmless, And Persecutes It Till It Is Black With Words, And Then Besmirches Its Sister, And So On, Through The Quire.