Nothing Is Intrinsically Valuable; The Value Of

Those Rituals Of Getting Ready To Write Produce A Kind Of Trance State.

The Genie Declared That In His Time And Place There Were Scientists Of The Passions Who Maintained That Language Itself, On The One Hand, Originated In 'infantile Pregenital Erotic Exuberance, Polymorphously Perverse,' And That Conscious Attention, On The Other, Was A 'libidinal Hypercathexis' - By Which Magic Phrases They Seemed To Mean That Writing And Reading, Or Telling And Listening, Were Literally Ways Of Making Love.

History - An Account, Mostly False, Of Events, Mostly Unimportant

A Curious Thing About Written Literature: It Is About Four Thousand Years Old, But We Have No Way Of Knowing Whether Four Thousand Years Constitutes Senility Or The Maiden Blush Of Youth.

Nothing Is Loathsomer Than The Self-loathing Of A Self One Loathes.