What Is Ridiculous About Human Beings, Doctor,'

One Day You're Cut Off, At The Very Start You're Cut Off And Can't Go Back, The Language You Learn And The Whole Business Of Walking And All The Rest Is For The Sake Of The Single Thought, How To Get Back Again.

Everyone, He Went On, Speaks A Language He Does Not Understand, But Which Now And Then Is Understood By Others. That Is Enough To Permit One To Exist And At Least To Be Misunderstood.

The Thinking Man Always Finds Himself In A Gigantic Orphanage In Which People Are Continually Proving To Him That He Has No Parents.

I Really Only Write About Inner Landscapes And Most People Don't See Them, Because They See Practically Nothing Within, Because They Think That Because It's Inside, It's Dark, And So They Don't See Anything. I Don't Think I've Ever Yet, In Any Of My Books, Described A Landscape. There's Really Nothing Of The Kind In Any Of Them. I Only Ever Write Concepts. And So I'm Always Referring To "mountains" Or "a City" Or "streets." But As To How They Look: I've Never Produced A Description Of A Landscape. That's Never Even Interested Me.

...he Was Just Scraps Of Words And Dislocated Phrases.