I Never Was Someone Who Was At

Newton's Third Law Of Conversation, If It Existed, Would Hold That Every Statement Implies An Equal And Opposite Statement. To Say That I'd Turned The Offer Down Raised The Possibility That I Might Not Have Done.

Success On A Cosmic Level Completely Eludes Me. I'm Deeply Suspicious Of Things Being Too Good. It's Part Of My Superstition, I Think, To Generate Pain In Order To Give The Illusion Of Gain. I'm Not Saying I Reject Success, But Honestly, I Don't Quite Know How To Deal With It. It's An Old Feeling: As Soon As You Have The Thing You've Been Going After All Your Life, That Reasonable Degree Of Security, You Start Kicking Against It, Doubting It.

I Was Shown Into A Room. A Red Room. Red Wallpaper, Red Curtains, Red Carpet. They Said It Was A Sitting-room, But I Don’t Know Why They’d Decided To Confine Its Purpose Just To Sitting. Obviously, Sitting Was One Of The Things You Could Do In A Room This Size; But You Could Also Stage Operas, Hold Cycling Races, And Have An Absolutely Cracking Game Of Frisbee, All At The Same Time, Without Having To Move Any Of The Furniture. It Could Rain In A Room This Big.

This Was The Tricky Bit. The Really Tricky Bit, Trickiness Cubed.

Driving A Motorcycle Is Like Flying. All Your Senses Are Alive. Being House Is Like Flying, Too. He's Free Of The Gravity Of What People Think.