Every Artist Is An Unhappy

Trains Induce Such Terrible Anxiety. They Image The Possibility Of Total And Irrevocable Failure. They Are Also Dirty, Rackety, Packed With Strangers, An Object Lesson In The Foul Contingency Of Life: The Talkative Fellow-traveller, The Possibility Of Children.

Falling Out Of Love Is Chiefly A Matter Of Forgetting How Charming Someone Is.

I Am Not Famous For Anything In Particular. I Am Just Famous.

Youth Is A Marvelous Garment

How Different Each Death Is, And Yet It Leads Us Into The Self-same Country, That Country Which We Inhabit So Rarely, Where We See The Worthlessness Of What We Have Long Pursued And Will So Soon Return To Pursuing.