By The Tits Of Holy Agnes

If You Are Without Impulses, You Are, To A Degree, Without Joy..." 469

Suppose Within Each Book There Is Another Book, And Within Every Letter On Every Page Another Volume Constantly Unfolding; But These Volumes Take No Space On The Desk. Suppose Knowledge Could Be Reduced To A Quintessence, Held Within A Picture, A Sign, Held Within A Place Which Is No Place. Suppose The Human Skull Were To Become Capacious, Spaces Opening Inside It, Humming Chambers Like Beehives.

It Is The Absence Of Facts That Frightens People: The Gap You Open, Into Which They Pour Their Fears, Fantasies, Desires.

[h]ope Takes You By The Throat Like A Stranger, It Makes Your Heart Leap.

I Think I Would Have Been A Reasonably Good Lawyer. I Have A Faculty For Making Sense Of Mountains Of Information.