A Novel Is What You

Ignorance, If Recognized, Is Often More Fruitful Than The Appearance Of Knowledge.

The Mystery Lies In The Here And Now. The Mystery Is: What Is One To Do With Oneself? As You Get Older You Begin To Realize The Trick Time Is Playing, And That Unless You Do Something About It, The Passage Of Time Is Nothing But The Encroachment Of The Horrible Banality Of The Past On The Pure Future. The Past Devours The Future Like A Tape Recorder, Converting Pure Possibility Into Banality. The Present Is The Tape Head, The Mouth Of Time. Then Where Is The Mystery And Why Bother Kicking Through The Ashes? Because There Is A Clue In The Past.

Home May Be Where The Heart Is But It's No Place To Spend Wednesday Afternoon.

The Fact Is I Am Quite Happy In A Movie, Even A Bad Movie. Other People, So I Have Read, Treasure Memorable Moments In Their Lives.

Classes? Categories? Was That What We Had Come To?