We New Yorkers See More Death And

If Two People Are In Love They Can Sleep On The Blade Of A Knife.

There Aren't Many Irritations To Match The Condescension Which A Woman Metes Out To A Man Who She Believes Has Loved Her Vainly For The Past Umpteen Years.

Black Bears, Though, Are Not Fearsome. I Encountered One On The Road To My House In Vermont, Alone At Night. I Picked Up Two Stones Just In Case, But I Wasn't Afraid Of Him. I Felt A Hunter's Exhilaration And A Brotherly Feeling.

Suicidal Thinking, If Serious, Can Be A Kind Of Death Scare, Comparable To Suffering A Heart Attack Or Undergoing A Cancer Operation. One Survives Such A Phase Both Warier And Chastened. When-ten Years Ago-i Emerged From A Bad Dip Into Suicidal Speculation, I Felt Utterly Exhausted And Yet Quite Fearless Of Ordinary Dangers, Vastly Afraid Of Myself But Much Less Scared Of Extraneous Eventualities.

The Zest For Life Of Those Unusual Men And Women Who Make A Great Zealous Success Of Living Is Due More Often In Good Part To The Craftiness And Pertinacity With Which They Manage To Overlook The Misery Of Others. You Can Watch Them Watch Life Beat The Stuffing Out Of The Faces Of Their Friends And Acquaintances, Although They Themselves Seem To Outwit The Dense Delays Of Social Custom, The Tedious Tick-tock Of Bureaucratic Obfuscation, Accepting Loss And Age And Change And Disappointment Without Suffering Punctures In Their Stomach Lining.