Language In Art Remains A

The Weasel Under The Cocktail Cabinet.

I Ought Not To Speak About The Dead Because The Dead Are All Over The Place.

Do The Structures Of Language And The Structures Of Reality (by Which I Mean What Actually Happens) Move Along Parallel Lines? Does Reality Essentially Remain Outside Language, Separate, Obdurate, Alien, Not Susceptible To Description? Is An Accurate And Vital Correspondence Between What Is And Our Perception Of It Impossible? Or Is It That We Are Obliged To Use Language Only In Order To Obscure And Distort Reality -- To Distort What Happens -- Because We Fear It?

Clinton's Hands Remain Incredibly Clean, Don't They, And Tony Blair's Smile Remains As Wide As Ever. I View These Guises With Profound Contempt.

This Particular Nurse Said, Cancer Cells Are Those Which Have Forgotten How To Die. I Was So Struck By This Statement.