I Know What Is Going On," Said

To Stutter Through It With You Or Even Stop Stuttering And Say Nothing, Was So Lucky And Soft, Better Talk Than Mile-a-minute With Anyone. After A Few Minutes We’d Stop Rattling, We’d Adjust, We’d Settle In, And The Conversation Would Speed Into The Night.

You Meet People Who Are In Pain In Life And Love And You Forgive Them For Behaving The Way They Do.

A Newspaper, As I'm Sure You Know, Is A Collection Of Supposedly True Stories Written Down By Writers Who Either Saw Them Happen Or Talked To People Who Did. These Writers Are Called Journalists, And Like Telephone Operators, Butchers, Ballerinas, And People Who Clean Up After Horses, Journalists Can Sometimes Make Mistakes.

There Is A Kind Of Crying I Hope You Have Not Experienced, And It Is Not Just Crying About Something Terrible That Has Happened, But A Crying For All Of The Terrible Things That Have Happened, Not Just To You But To Everyone You Know And To Everyone You Don’t Know And Even The People You Don’t Want To Know, A Crying That Cannot Be Diluted By A Brave Deed Or A Kind Word, But Only By Someone Holding You As Your Shoulders Shake And Your Tears Run Down Your Face.

One Wanders Through Life As If Wandering Through A Field In The Dark Of Night, Wearing A Blindfold And Very Heavy Shoes, With A Poisonous Toad Waiting Patiently Beneath A Clump Of Weeds, Knowing Full Well That Eventually You Will Step On Him.