Things Are Not What They Seem.

In Our World Of Sleek Flesh And Collagen, Botox And Liposuction, What We Most Fear Is The Dissolution Of The Body-mind, The Death Of The Brain.

There Is A Peculiar Aesthetic Pleasure In Constructing The Form Of A Syllabus, Or A Book Of Essays, Or A Course Of Lectures. Visions And Shadows Of People And Ideas Can Be Arranged And Rearranged Like Stained-glass Pieces In A Window, Or Chessmen On A Board.

One Does Not Remember The Winners. One Remains Haunted By The Losers.

It's A Terrible Poison, Writing.

As A Little Girl, I Didn't Like Stories About Little Girls. I Liked Stories About Dragons And Beasts And Princes And Princesses And Fear And Terror And The Four Musketeers And Almost Anything Other Than Nice Little Girls Making Moral Decisions About Whether To Tell The Teacher About What The Other Little Girl Did Or Did Not Do.