Hunger Allows No Choice.

In Times Of Joy, All Of Us Wished We Possessed A Tail We Could Wag.

The Words Of A Dead Man Are Modified In The Guts Of The Living.

What Is A Professor Of Poetry? How Can Poetry Be Professed?

How Happy Is The Lot Of The Mathematician! He Is Judged Solely By His Peers, And The Standard Is So High That No Colleague Or Rival Can Ever Win A Reputation He Does Not Deserve. No Cashier Writes A Letter To The Press Complaining About The Incomprehensibility Of Modern Mathematics And Comparing It Unfavorably With The Good Old Days When Mathematicians Were Content To Paper Irregularly Shaped Rooms And Fill Bathtubs Without Closing The Waste Pipe.

Let Me See What I Wrote So I Know What I Think