Little devils wrestled with little angels in the innermost chambers of my conscience. The devils cheated, of course, although where my conscience was concerned they were also more familiar with the terrain.
Women are tough and rather coarse. They were built for the raw, crude work of bearing children. You’d be amazed at what they can do when they divert that baby-hatching energy into some other enterprise.
When you blow up a major life situation, as I did on two fronts before leaving Richmond, the explosion can leave a hole in your psyche. Nature abhors a vacuum, however, and over time the crater is almost certain to fill in with new wisdom – or fresh folly. Sometimes it can be a challenge to tell the difference.
Life isn’t simple; it’s overwhelmingly complex. The love of simplicity is an escapist drug, like alcohol.
You can’t rest in the shade of a human, not even a roly-poly one; and isn’t it refreshing that trees can undergo periodic change without having a nervous breakdown over it?
This darling Marvelous has eaten at many tables and has not been nourished.
Only the obtuse are unappreciative of paradox.
Now I’d fallen into it like a drunk hobo falling into a vat of champagne.
Isn’t fixity the hallmark of the living dead?
And did I lose my faith in raffles about the same time and for approximately the same reasons that I quit believing that virgins can have babies; or that if I slay only those people the government encourages me to slay, I’ll be allowed to spend all of eternity in some vaguely located puffyland sipping milk and honey with a huzzahing throng of cheery nonthinkers?
Elsewhere, they might call the wind Mariah, but here its name was Something Fishy.
So, the scholars are tedious, the experts never see the whole truth of things, still they have their role to play.
What if the Christ and the Messiah come, and they’re two different guys?
Freedom has long proven too heady an elixir for America’s masses, weakened and confused as they are by conflicting commitments to puritanical morality and salacious greed.
Sissy Hankshaw once taught a parakeet to hitchhike.
She had only the slimmest notion of what he meant, but his voice made her so horny she could barely keep from squirming, crossing her legs, or hopping about, like a little girl who had to go to the bathroom. On.
In order to tame death, they refuse to completely enjoy life. In rejecting complete enjoyment, they are half-dead in advance – and that with no guarantee that their sacrifice will actually benefit them when all is done.
Enlightened and endarkened. The ultimate.
She thought these thoughts to herself as in her mind’s eye she ran naked through the woods, hugging trees.
I married John Paul because I’m knocked out by his style. Because I love him and respect him and enjoy the transformations that take place as a result of our sharing the same dimensions.