To Want To Be What One Can

I Measure My Life In Sentences Pressed Out, Line By Line, Like The Lustrous Ooze On The Underside Of The Snail, The Snail's Secret Open Seam, Its Wound, Leaking Attar.

The Trouble With Happiness Is That It Never Notices Itself.

Nothing Is So Awesomely Unfamiliar As The Familiar That Discloses Itself At The End Of A Journey. Nothing Shakes The Heart So Much As Meeting-far, Far Away-what You Last Met At Home.

Of Comic Novels That Have Quaffed The Elixir Of 'classic': Zuleika Dobson By Max Beerbohm.

Language Makes Culture, And We Make A Rotten Culture When We Abuse Words.