Thought Is A Disease Of The Brain.

The Forest Stretched On Seemingly Forever With The Most Monotonous Predictability, Each Tree Just Like The Next - Trunk, Branches, Leaves; Trunk, Branches, Leaves. Of Course A Tree Would Have Taken A Different View Of The Matter. We All Tend To See The Way Others Are Alike And How We Differ, And It's Probably Just As Well We Do, Since That Prevents A Great Deal Of Confusion. But Perhaps We Should Remind Ourselves From Time To Time That Ours Is A Very Partial View, And That The World Is Full Of A Great Deal More Variety Than We Ever Manage To Take In.

Poets Are Regarded As Handicapped Writers Whose Work Must Be Treated With A Tender Condescension, Such As One Accords The Athletic Achievements Of Basketball Players Confined To Wheelchairs.

All Children... Feel A Demonic Sympathy With Those Things That Cause Disorder In The Grown-up World.

But The Toaster Was Quite Satisfied With Itself, Thank You. Though It Knew From Magazines That There Were Toasters Who Could Toast Four Slices At A Time, It Didn't Think That The Master, Who Lived Alone And Seemed To Have Few Friends, Would Have Wanted A Toaster Of Such Institutional Proportions. With Toast, It's Quality That Matters, Not Quantity.

Sometimes The Whole World Is Mud Luscious And Puddle Wonderful