Maybe You Can Make Art

Call Saw That Everyone Was Looking At Him, The Hands And Cowboys And Townspeople Alike. The Anger Had Drained Out Of Him, Leaving Him Feeling Tired. He Didn't Remember The Fight, Particularly, But People Were Looking At Him As If They Were Stunned. He Felt He Should Make Some Explanation, Though It Seemed To Him A Simple Situation. "i Hate A Man That Talks Rude," He Said. "i Won't Tolerate It.

Uva Uvum Vivendo Varia Fit

Working- And Middle-class Families Sat Down At The Dinner Table Every Night - The Shared Meal Was The Touchstone Of Good Manners. Indeed, That Dinner Table Was The One Time When We Were All Together, Every Day: Parents, Grandparents, Children, Siblings. Rudeness Between Siblings, Or A Failure To Observe The Etiquette Of Passing Dishes To One Another, Accompanied By "please" And "thank You," Was The Training Ground Of Behavior, The Place Where Manners Began.

Maybe You Can Make Art Out Of Unredeemed Pain, But Only If You're A Genius -- Dostoyevsky Perhaps.

Writing Is A Form Of Herding. I Herd Words Into Little Paragraph-like Clusters.