There Are The Lover And

But You Haven't Never Loved God Nor Even Nair Person. You Hard And Tough As Cowhide. But Just The Same I Knows You. This Afternoon You Going To Roam All Over The Place Without Never Being Satisfied. You Going To Traipse All Around Like You Haves To Find Something Lost. You Going To Work Yourself Up With Excitement. Your Heart Going To Beat Hard Enough To Kill You Because You Don't Love And Don't Have Peace. And Then Some Day You Going To Bust Loose And Be Ruined.

It Is A Curious Emotion, This Certain Homesickness I Have In Mind. With Americans, It Is A National Trait, As Native To Us As The Roller-coaster Or The Jukebox. It Is No Simple Longing For The Home Town Or Country Of Our Birth. The Emotion Is Janus-faced: We Are Torn Between A Nostalgia For The Familiar And An Urge For The Foreign And Strange. As Often As Not, We Are Homesick Most For The Places We Have Never Known.

All We Can Do Is Go Around Telling The Truth.

The Theme Is The Theme Of Humiliation, Which Is The Square Root Of Sin, As Opposed To The Freedom From Humiliation, And Love, Which Is The Square Root Of Wonderful.

Her Face Felt Like It Was Scattered In Pieces And She Could Not Keep It Straight. The Feeling Was A Whole Lot Worse Than Being Hungry For Any Dinner, Yet It Was Like That. I Want--i Want--i Want--was All That She Could Think About--but Just What This Real Want Was She Did No Know.