The Notion Of A Universality Of Human

There Is A Striking Resemblance Between The Act Of Love And The Ministrations Of A Torturer.

My Paternal Grandmother Would Not Light A Fire On The Sabbath And Piled All Sunday's Washing-up In A Bucket, To Be Dealt With On Monday Morning, Because The Sabbath Was A Day Of Rest--a Practice That Made My Paternal Grandfather, The Village Atheist, As Mad As Fire. Nevertheless, He Willed Five Quid To The Minister, Just To Be On The Safe Side.

He Was A Lovely Man In Many Ways. But He Kept On Insisting On Forgiving Me When There Was Nothing To Forgive.

She Stood Lost In Eternity Wearing A Crazy Dress, Watching The Immense Sky.

What Do You See When You See Me?' She Asked Him, Burying Her Own Face In His Bosom. 'do You Want The Truth?' She Nodded. 'the Firing Squad.' 'that's Not The Whole Truth. Try Again.' 'insatiability,' He Said With Some Bitterness. 'that's Oblique But Altogether Too Simple. Once More,' She Insisted. 'one More Time.' He Was Silent For Several Minutes. 'the Map Of A Country In Which I Only Exist By Virtue Of The Extravagance Of My Metaphors.' 'now You're Being Too Sophisticated. And, Besides, What Metaphors Do We Have In Common?