All Our Failures Are Ultimately Failures In

Trains Induce Such Terrible Anxiety. They Image The Possibility Of Total And Irrevocable Failure. They Are Also Dirty, Rackety, Packed With Strangers, An Object Lesson In The Foul Contingency Of Life: The Talkative Fellow-traveller, The Possibility Of Children.

I Feel Half Faded Away Like Some Figure In The Background Of An Old Picture.

There Is Nothing Like The Bootless Solitude Of Those Who Are Caged Together.

One Doesn't Have To Get Anywhere In A Marriage. It's Not A Public Conveyance.

How Different Each Death Is, And Yet It Leads Us Into The Self-same Country, That Country Which We Inhabit So Rarely, Where We See The Worthlessness Of What We Have Long Pursued And Will So Soon Return To Pursuing.