All The Things You Can

Neither Mine Nor Other People's Prospects Seem Particularly Pleasing Just At The Moment, And I Have Fantasies Of Going To Iceland, Never To Return. As It Is, I Tell Myself Not To Remember The Past, Not To Hope Or Fear For The Future, And Not To Think In The Present, A Comprehensive Program That Will Undoubtedly Have Very Little Success.

This Is The Theory… That Anything That Is Art… Is Presumably About Some Certain Thing, But Is Really Always About Something Else, And It’s No Good Having One Without The Other, Because If You Just Have The Something It Is Boring And If You Just Have The Something Else It’s Irritating.

More Is Happening Out There Than We Are Aware Of. It Is Possibly Due To Some Unknown Direful Circumstance.

All The Things You Can Talk About In Anyone's Work Are The Things That Are Least Important.

I Have Given Up Considering Happiness As Relevant.