To Beatrice- My Love Flew Like A

The Burning Of A Book Is A Sad, Sad Sight, For Even Though A Book Is Nothing But Ink And Paper, It Feels As If The Ideas Contained In The Book Are Disappearing As The Pages Turn To Ashes And The Cover And Binding--which Is The Term For The Stitching And Glue That Holds The Pages Together--blacken And Curl As The Flames Do Their Wicked Work. When Someone Is Burning A Book, They Are Showing Utter Contempt For All Of The Thinking That Produced Its Ideas, All Of The Labor That Went Into Its Words And Sentences, And All Of The Trouble That Befell The Author . . .

There's Information About Everything From Poetry To Pills, From Picture Frames To Pyramids, And From Pudding To Psychology--and That's Just In The P Aisle, Which We're Walking Down Right Now.

For Beatrice, When We First Met, I Was Lonely, And You Were Pretty. Now I Am Pretty Lonely.

Fetching Objects For People Who Are Too Lazy To Fetch Them For Themselves Is Never A Pleasant Task, Particularly When The People Are Insulting You.

In America Now There Is This Phenomenon Called Helicopter Parenting, Where You're Hovering Over Your Child For The Whole Time. Parents There View Their Job As Being To Make Sure Their Kid Never Has A Moment Of Unhappiness. Of Course, As A Parent Myself, I Can Understand The Urge, But I Don't Know Whether It Would Be Healthy Or Possible.