With A Pencil And Paper, I Could

Even When We Say Nothing Our Clothes Are Talking Noisily To Everyone Who Sees Us, Telling Them Who We Are, Where We Come From, What We Like To Do In Bed And A Dozen Other Intimate Things.

But I Think That Sometimes, When One's Behaved Like A Rather Second-rate Person, The Way I Did At Breakfast, Then In A Kind Of Self-destructive Shock One Goes And Does Something Really Second-rate. Almost As If To Prove It.

There Is A Peculiar Burning Odor In The Room, Like Explosives. The Kitchen Fills With Smoke And The Hot, Sweet, Ashy Smell Of Scorched Cookies. The War Has Begun.

America Has A History Of Political Isolation And Economic Self-sufficiency; Its Citizens Have Tended To Regard The Rest Of The World As A Disaster Area From Which Lucky Or Pushy People Emigrate To The Promised Land.

We All Want To Be Guilty, Because Guilt Is Power.