A Certain Bohemian, Good-witch Sort Of Charm

Man," He Said, "i'm Not Afraid Of Graveyards. The Dead Are Just, You Know, People Who Wanted The Same Things You And I Want." "what Do We Want?" I Asked Blurrily. "aw, Man, You Know," He Said. "we Just Want, Well, The Same Things These People Wanted." "what Was That?" He Shrugged. "to Live, I Guess," He Said.

These Days, Clarissa Believes, You Measure People First By Their Kindness And Their Capacity For Devotion. You Get Tired, Sometimes, Of Wit And Intellect; Everybody's Little Display Of Genius.

On A Summer Night It Can Be Lovely To Sit Around Outside With Friends After Dinner And, Yes, Read Poetry To Each Other. Keats And Yeats Will Never Let You Down, But It's Differently Exciting To Read The Work Of Poets Who Are Still Walking Around Out There.

..this Indiscriminate Love Feels Entirely Serious To Her, As If Everything In The World Is Part Of A Vast, Inscrutable Intention And Everything In The World Has Its Own Secret Name, A Name That Cannot Be Conveyed In Language But Is Simply The Sight And Feel Of The Thing Itself.

How We Dress Is, As Far As I Can Tell, The Only Inescapably Public Choice That We Have. People Don't Need To Know What You Eat, People Don't Need To Know Who You Have Sex With. But There's No Escaping What You Wear And The Fact That You've Chosen It. Even If You Insist That You Don't Care About Fashion, That's Your Statement. It's Really One Realm Of Life Where You Are Forced To Make Your Own Statement.