What Happiness Is There In Just The

Whores. Necessary In The Nineteenth Century For The Contraction Of Syphilis, Without Which No One Could Claim Genius.

We Live In Time, It Bounds Us And Defines Us, And Time Is Supposed To Measure History, Isn't It? But If We Can't Understand Time, Can't Grasp Its Mysteries Of Pace And Progress, What Chance Do We Have With History--even Our Own Small, Personal, Largely Undocumented Piece Of It?

May You Be Ordinary, As The Poet Once Wished The New-born Baby.

You Can Put It Another Way, Of Course; You Always Can.

As I've Explained To My Wife Many Times, You Have To Kill Your Wife Or Mistress To Get On The Front Page Of The Papers.