Sometimes Awful Things Have Their Own Beauty.

Waking Up Begins With Saying Am And Now. That Which Has Awoken Then Lies For A While Staring Up At The Ceiling And Down Into Itself Until It Has Recognized I, And Therefrom Deduced I Am, I Am Now. Here Comes Next, And Is At Least Negatively Reassuring; Because Here, This Morning, Is Where It Has Expected To Find Itself: What’s Called At Home.

One Should Never Write Down Or Up To People, But Out Of Yourself.

Horror Is Always Aware Of Its Cause; Terror Never Is. That Is Precisely What Makes Terror Terrifying.

A Minority Is Only Thought Of As A Minority When It Constitutes Some Kind Of Threat To The Majority, Real Or Imaginary. And No Threat Is Ever Quite Imaginary.

These Books Have Not Made George Nobler Or Better Or More Truly Wise. It Is Just That He Likes Listening To Their Voices, The One Or The Other, Acording To His Mood. He Misuses Them Quite Ruthlessly - Despite The Respectful Way He Has To Talk About Them In Public - To Put Him To Bed, To Take His Mind Off The Hands Of The Clock, To Relax The Nagging Of His Pyloric Spasm, To Gossip Him Out Of His Melancholy, To Trigger The Conditioned Reflexes Of His Colon.