Classes? Categories? Was That What We Had

I Sometimes Think Novelists Write About Sex In Order To Avoid Boring Themselves To Death.

Why Is It That No Other Species But Man Gets Bored? Under The Circumstances In Which A Man Gets Bored, A Dog Goes To Sleep.

Lord, Grant That My Work Increase Knowledge And Help Other Men. Failing That, Lord, Grant That It Will Not Lead To Man’s Destruction. Failing That, Lord, Grant That My Article In Brain Be Published Before The Destruction Takes Place.

Being Uneducated Is No Guarantee Against Being Obnoxious.

The Mystery Lies In The Here And Now. The Mystery Is: What Is One To Do With Oneself? As You Get Older You Begin To Realize The Trick Time Is Playing, And That Unless You Do Something About It, The Passage Of Time Is Nothing But The Encroachment Of The Horrible Banality Of The Past On The Pure Future. The Past Devours The Future Like A Tape Recorder, Converting Pure Possibility Into Banality. The Present Is The Tape Head, The Mouth Of Time. Then Where Is The Mystery And Why Bother Kicking Through The Ashes? Because There Is A Clue In The Past.