The Days Weren't Long Enough For The

It Was The Kind Of Library He Had Only Read About In Books.

It's Subjunctive History. You Know, The Subjunctive? The Mood Used When Something May Or May Not Have Happened. When It Is Imagined.

If, For Instance, We'd Made The Film After The Show Had Been To Broadway, It Would Have Been Exactly The Same Film But We Would Have Been Assured That They Would Have Understood It. We Didn't Have To Do Any Alterations For Broadway. I Was Supposed To Go A Fortnight Before It Opened To Alter Anything That Was Necessary And There Was Nothing Really.

I Tried To Explain To Her The Significance Of The Great Poet, But Without Much Success, The Waste Land Not Figuring Very Largely In Mam's Scheme Of Things. "the Thing Is," I Said Finally, "he Won The Nobel Prize." "well," She Said, With That Unerring Grasp Of Inessentials Which Is The Prerogative Of Mothers, "i'm Not Surprised. It Was A Beautiful Overcoat."

To Read Is To Withdraw.to Make Oneself Unavailable. One Would Feel Easier About It If The Pursuit Inself Were Less...selfish.