Everything Human Is Alien To Me.

January. It Was All Things. And It Was One Thing, Like A Solid Door. Its Cold Sealed The City In A Gray Capsule. January Was Moments, And January Was A Year. January Rained The Moments Down, And Froze Them In Her Memory: [...]every Human Action Seemed To Yield A Magic. January Was A Two-faced Month, Jangling Like Jester's Bells, Crackling Like Snow Crust, Pure As Any Beginning, Grim As An Old Man, Mysteriously Familiar Yet Unknown, Like A Word One Can Almost But Not Quite Define.

This Is What I Like, Sitting At A Table And Watching People Go By. It Does Something To Your Outlook On Life. The Anglo-saxons Make A Great Mistake Not Staring At People From A Sidewalk Table.

Perhaps It Was Freedom Itself That Choked Her.

I Prefer To Live In The Country Where It's Quiet. Woody Allen Movies There Are Dubbed Into Italian.

The Night Was A Time For Bestial Affinities, For Drawing Closer To Oneself.