The More You Learn, The Less You

Does History Repeat Itself, The First Time As Tragedy, The Second Time As Farce? No, That's Too Grand, Too Considered A Process. History Just Burps, And We Taste Again That Raw-onion Sandwich It Swallowed Centuries Ago.

Not Merely Hope, But Any Burdensome Yearning: Ambition, Hatred, Love (especially Love) - How Rarely Do Our Emotions Meet The Object They Seem To Deserve? How Hopelessly We Signal; How Dark The Sky; How Big The Waves. We Are All Lost At See, Washed Between Hope And Despair, Hailing Something That May Never Come To Rescue Us. Catastrophe Has Become Art; But This Is No Reducing Process. It Is Freeing, Enlarging, Explaining. Catastrophe Has Become Art: That Is, After All, What It Is For.

A Pier Is A Disappointed Bridge; Yet Stare At It For Long Enough And You Can Dream It To The Other Side Of The Channel.

It's Easy, After All, Not To Be A Writer. Most People Aren't Writers, And Very Little Harm Comes To Them.

Writers Of Either Gender Ought To Be Able To Do The Opposite Sex-that's One Basic Test Of Competence, After All.