Walt Whitman, He Who Laid End To

Morris Read Through The Letter. Was It A Shade Too Fulsome? No, That Was Another Law Of Academic Life: It Is Impossible To Be Excessive In Flattery Of One's Peers.

Whhheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! The Scream Of Jet Engines Rises To A Crescendo On The Runways Of The World. Every Second, Somewhere Or Other, A Plane Touches Down, With A Puff Of Smoke From Scorched Tyre Rubber, Or Rises In The Air, Leaving A Smear Of Black Fumes Dissolving In Its Wake. From Space, The Earth Might Look To A Fanciful Eye Like A Huge Carousel, With Planes Instead Of Horses Spinning Round Its Circumference, Up And Down, Up And Down. Whhheeeeeeeeeee!

Jogging, I Believe They Call It. It Seems To Be An Epidemic Psychological Illness Afflicting Americans These Days. A Form Of Masochism, Like The Flagellantes In The Middle Ages.

To Read Is To Surrender Oneself To An Endless Displacement Of Curiosity And Desire From One Sentence To Another

Life, After All, Should Go Forwards, Not Backwards.