There Are No Ordinary Cats.

Researchers, With Science As Their Authority, Will Be Able To Cut Animals Up, Alive, Into Small Pieces, Drop Them From A Great Height To See If They Are Shattered By The Fall, Or Deprive Them Of Sleep For Sixteen Days And Nights Continuously For The Purposes Of An Iniquitous Monograph. . . . Animal Trust, Undeserved Faith, When At Last Will You Turn Away From Us? Shall We Never Tire Of Deceiving, Betraying, Tormenting Animals Before They Cease To Trust Us?

I Am Going Away With Him To An Unknown Country Where I Shall Have No Past And No Name, And Where I Shall Be Born Again With A New Face And An Untried Heart.

To Write Is To Pour One’s Innermost Self Passionately Upon The Tempting Paper, At Such Frantic Speed That Sometimes One’s Hand Struggles And Rebels, Overdriven By The Impatient God Which Guides It - And To Find, Next Day, In Place Of The Golden Bough That Bloomed Miraculously In That Dazzling Hour, A Withered Bramble And A Stunted Flower.

If We Want To Be Sincere, We Must Admit That There Is A Well-nourished Love And An Ill-nourished Love. And The Rest Is Literature.

A Few Days Later, I Found My Mother Beneath The Tree, Motionless With Excitement, Her Head Turned Toward The Heavens In Which She Would Allow Human Religions No Place.