In Some Lost Fold Of The Past,

Of What Is Lost, Irretrievably Lost, All I Wish To Recover Is The Daily Availability Of My Writing, Lines Capable Of Grasping Me By The Hair And Lifting Me Up When I'm At The End Of My Strength. (significant, Said The Foreigner.) Odes To The Human And The Divine. Let My Writing Be Like The Verses Of By Leopardi That Daniel Biga Recited On A Nordic Bridge To Gird Himself With Courage.

So Everything Lets Us Down, Including Curiosity And Honesty And What We Love Best. Yes, Said The Voice, But Cheer Up, It's Fun In The End.

If Life Is Misery, Why Do We Endure It?

There's No Place On Earth With More Dumb Girls Per Square Foot Than A College In California.

I'll Tell You, My Friends: It's All In The Nerves. The Nerves That Tense And Relax As You Approach The Edges Of Companionship And Love. The Razor-sharp Edges Of Companionship And Love.