Unhappiness In A Child Accumulates Because He

American Bankers Believe In The Personal Touch; The Teller Conveys A Sense That He Happens To Be There Accidentally And He Is Overjoyed At The Lucky Chance Of The Encounter.

...every Monologue Sooner Or Later Becomes A Discussion.

They Can Print Statistics And Count The Populations In Hundreds Of Thousands, But To Each Man A City Consists Of No More Than A Few Streets, A Few Houses, A Few People. Remove Those Few And A City Exists No Longer Except As A Pain In The Memory, Like A Pain Of An Amputated Leg No Longer There.

So Much In Writing Depends On The Superficiality Of One's Days. One May Be Preoccupied With Shopping And Income Tax Returns And Chance Conversations, But The Stream Of The Unconscious Continues To Flow Undisturbed, Solving Problems, Planning Ahead: One Sits Down Sterile And Dispirited At The Desk, And Suddenly The Words Come As Though From The Air: The Situations That Seemed Blocked In A Hopeless Impasse Move Forward: The Work Has Been Done While One Slept Or Shopped Or Talked With Friends.

I Hate You, God. I Hate You As Though You Actually Exist.