Nostalgia, The Vice Of The Aged.

Drosselmeier Had Unwittingly Exposed Himself To An Overdose Of Reality, And It Had Destroyed His Reason.

The Child's Laughter Is Pure Until He First Laughs At A Clown.

The Bed Is Now As Public As The Dinner Table And Governed By The Same Rules Of Formal Confrontation.

We Do Not Go To Bed In Single Pairs; Even If We Choose Not To Refer To Them, We Still Drag There With Us The Cultural Impedimenta Of Our Social Class, Our Parents' Lives, Our Bank Balances, Our Sexual And Emotional Expectations, Our Whole Biographies-all The Bits And Pieces Of Our Unique Existences.

For All Cats Have This Particularity, Each And Every One, From The Meanest Alley Sneaker To The Proudest, Whitest She That Ever Graced A Pontiff's Pillow — We Have Our Smiles, As It Were, Painted On. Those Small, Cool, Quite Mona Lisa Smiles That Smile We Must, No Matter Whether It's Been Fun Or It's Been Not. So All Cats Have A Politician's Air; We Smile And Smile And So They Think We're Villains