What Are We? Humans? Or Animals? Or

I Play The Piano Passionately And Inaccurately. Indeed, I Worked Out The Other Day That Of My Seventy-five Years; I Have Spent At Least One Year Sitting On A Piano Stool.

Kill The Pig. Cut Her Throat. Spill Her Blood.

One Tries To Tell A Truth, And One Hopes That The Truth Has A General Application Rather Than Just A Specific One.

I Am Here; And Here Is Nowhere In Particular.

We've Got To Have Rules And Obey Them. After All, We're Not Savages. We're English, And The English Are Best At Everything.