We Have Really No Absent Friends.

Memory Must Be Patchy; What Is More Alarming Is Its Face-savingness. Something In One Shrinks From Catching It Out - Unique To Oneself, One's Own, One's Claim To Identity, It Implicates One's Identity In Its Fibbing.

Fashion Seems To Exist For An Abstract Person Who Is Not You Or Me.

No, It Is Not Only Our Fate But Our Business To Lose Innocence, And Once We Have Lost That, It Is Futile To Attempt A Picnic In Eden.

Language Is A Mixture Of Statement And Evocation.

The Process Of Reading Is Reciprocal; The Book Is No More Than A Formula, To Be Furnished Out With Images Out Of The Reader's Mind.