The General Public Has Long

Not Me, Paranoia's The Garlic In Life's Kitchen, Right, You Can Never Have Too Much.

Time Is Never Wasted If You Remember To Bring Along Something To Read.

There Is Nothing So Loathsome As A Sentimental Surrealist.

She Touched The Edge Of Its Voluptuous Field, Knowing It Would Be Lovely Beyond Dreams Simply To Submit To It; That Not Gravity's Pull, Laws Of Ballistics, Feral Ravening, Promised More Delight. She Tested It, Shivering: I Am Meant To Remember. Each Clue That Comes Is Supposed To Have Its Own Clarity, Its Fine Chances For Permanence. But Then She Wondered If The Gemlike "clues" Were Only Some Kind Of Compensation. To Make Up For Her Having Lost The Direct, Epileptic Word, The Cry That Might Abolish The Night.

Perhaps Its Familiarity Rendered It Temporarily Invisible To You.