However Much We Hate The Law, We

A Good Time Occurs Precisely When We Lose Track Of What Time It Is.

The Shock Of Unemployment Becomes A Pathology In Its Own Right.

What Are You Going To Do With Your Freedom?

Why Do We Marry, Why Take Friends And Lovers? Why Give Ourselves To Music, Painting, Chemistry Or Cooking? Out Of Simple Delight In The Resident Goodness Of Creation, Of Course; But Out Of More Than That, Too. Half Earth's Gorgeousness Lies Hidden In The Glimpsed City It Longs To Become.

Lord, Please Restore To Us The Comfort Of Merit And Demerit. Show Us That There Is At Least Something We Can Do. Tell Us That At The End Of The Day There Will At Least Be One Redeeming Card Of Our Very Own. Lord, If It Is Not Too Much To Ask, Send Us To Bed With A Few Shreds Of Self-respect Upon Which We Can Congratulate Ourselves. But Whatever You Do, Do Not Preach Grace. Give Us Something To Do, Anything; But Spare Us The Indignity Of This Indiscriminate Acceptance.