The Question To Ask About The Writer

People Were Standing Up Everywhere Shouting, "this Is Me! This Is Me!" Every Time You Looked At Them They Stood Up And Told You Who They Were, And The Truth Of It Was That They Had No More Idea Who Or What They Were Than He Had. They Believed Their Flashing Signs, Too. They Ought To Be Standing Up And Shouting, "this Isn't Me! This Isn't Me!" They Would If They Had Any Decency. "this Isn't Me!" Then You Might Know How To Proceed Through The Flashing Bullshit Of This World.

The Pleasure Isn't In Owning The Person. The Pleasure Is This. Having Another Contender In The Room With You.

Oh, To Be A Center Fielder, A Center Fielder- And Nothing More

Too Late, But I Understand. That We Don't Perish Of Understanding Everything Too Late, That Is A Miracle. But We Do Perish Of That -- Of Just That.

Maybe The Best Thing Would Be To Forget Being Right Or Wrong About People And Just Go Along For The Ride. But If You Can Do That -- Well, Lucky You.