Joy And Sadness Come By Turns.

Other People, So I Have Read, Treasure Memorable Moments In Their Lives: The Time One Climbed The Parthenon At Sunrise, The Summer Night One Met A Lonely Girl In Central Park And Achieved With Her A Sweet And Natural Relationship, As They Say In Books. I Too Once Met A Girl In Central Park, But It Is Not Much To Remember. What I Remember Is The Time John Wayne Killed Three Men With A Carbine As He Was Falling To The Dusty Street In Stagecoach, And The Time The Kitten Found Orson Welles In The Doorway In The Third Man.

I Couldn't Stand It. I Still Can't Stand It. I Can't Stand The Way Things Are. I Cannot Tolerate This Age.

In A Word, The Consumer Of Mass Culture Is Lonely, Not Only Lonely, But Spiritually Impoverished.

Nobody But A Southerner Knows The Wrenching Rinsing Sadness Of The Cities Of The North.

Why Is It That One Can Look At A Lion Or A Planet Or An Owl Or At Someone's Finger As Long As One Pleases, But Looking Into The Eyes Of Another Person Is, If Prolonged Past A Second, A Perilous Affair?