Why It Should Be Such An Effort

There Does Seem To Me Something Sad In Life. It Is Hard To Say What It Is. I Don't Mean The Sorrow That We All Know, Like Illness And Poverty And Death. No, It Is Something Different. It Is There, Deep Down, Deep Down, Part Of One, Like One's Breathing.

What Can You Do If You Are Thirty And, Turning The Corner Of Your Own Street, You Are Overcome, Suddenly, By A Feeling Of Bliss - Absolute Bliss - As Though You'd Suddenly Swallowed A Bright Piece Of That Late Afternoon Sun And It Burned In Your Bosom, Sending Out A Little Shower Of Sparks Into Every Particle Into Every Finger And Toe?

I Really Only Have Perfect Fun With Myself. Other People Won't Stop And Look At The Things I Want To Look At Or, If They Do, They Stop To Please Me Or To Humor Me Or To Keep The Peace.

England Is Merely An Island Of Beef Swimming In A Warm Gulf Stream Of Gravy.

I Love The Night. I Love To Feel The Tide Of Darkness Rising, Slowly And Slowly Washing, Turning Over And Over, Lifting, Floating, All That Lies Strewn Upon The Dark Beach, All That Lies Hid In Rocky Hollows.