I Do Some Eccentric Dancing.

Twiddle-twiddle Away At My Softly Clicky Keyboard For A While, Making Twiddly Adjustments All Along- And Then Print What I Have Twiddled. Glare At The Printout And Snarl And Curse And Scribble Almost Illegibly All Over It With A Ballpoint Pen. Go Back To The Machine And Enter The Scribbles. Repeat This Procedure Until I Hate The Very Meaning Of Every Word I Know.

Being President Of Too Many Well-meaning Organizations Put My Father Into An Early Grave. The Lesson In This Was Not Lost On Me.

When Money Gets Too Far Away From Actual, Physical, Real Equity And Property It Gets Too Abstract And Too Distantly Derived And Then Suddenly It's Not Worth Anything Anymore. And The Same Is True Of Language.

People May Think Of Southern Humor In Terms Of Missing Teeth And Outhouse Accidents, But The Best Of It Is A Rich Vein Running Through The Best Of Southern Literature.

A Dog Will Make Eye Contact. A Cat Will, Too, But A Cat's Eyes Don't Even Look Entirely Warm-blooded To Me, Whereas A Dog's Eyes Look Human Except Less Guarded. A Dog Will Look At You As If To Say, "what Do You Want Me To Do For You? I'll Do Anything For You." Whether A Dog Can In Fact, Do Anything For You If You Don't Have Sheep (i Never Have) Is Another Matter. The Dog Is Willing.