Irony - The Modern Mode:

When You Read A Great Book, You Don't Escape From Life, You Plunge Deeper Into It.

The Imagination Doesn't Crop Annually Like A Reliable Fruit Tree. The Writer Has To Gather Whatever's There: Sometimes Too Much, Sometimes Too Little, Sometimes Nothing At All. And In The Years Of Glut There Is Always A Slatted Wooden Tray In Some Cool, Dark Attic, Which The Writer Nervously Visits From Time To Time; And Yes, Oh Dear, While He's Been Hard At Work Downstairs, Up In The Attic There Are Puckering Skins, Warning Spots, A Sudden Brown Collapse And The Sprouting Of Snowflakes. What Can He Do About It?

Iconic Paris Tells Us: Here Are Our Three-star Attractions, Go Thou And Marvel. And So We Gaze Obediently At What We Are Told To Gaze At, Without Exactly Asking Why.

Some Of The Freckles I Once Loved Are Now Closer To Liver Spots. But It’s Still The Eyes We Look At, Isn’t It? That’s Where We Found The Other Person, And Find Them Still.

Pride Makes Us Long For A Solution To Things – A Solution, A Purpose, A Final Cause; But The Better Telescopes Become, The More Stars Appear.