In Love, Self-love Is Always

Fame Is Fickle, But Obscurity Is Usually Faithful To The End.

Abyss-mongering Makes Professors And Poets Feel Daring.

I Seldom Remember My Father, But I Sneeze And Rub My Nose The Way He Did. I Also Love My Son With Grief And Anger, As He Did.

Placing The Extraordinary At The Center Of The Ordinary, As Realism Does, Is A Great Comfort To Us Stay-at-homes.

My Secrets Are Petty But Humiliating.