Passing in any crowd are secret people whose hidden response to beauty is the desire to tear it into bleeding meat.
All I can say is that laughter is my music; I would deeply suspect an argument which hadn’t laughter.
I’ve had too many experiences in my life of being the first woman in some damned occupation.
Being, I imagine, must be very simple. It is Becoming which is so messy and which I am all for.
You know, exams are like war – the birth rate of ideas goes up. Anything to keep from this dismal regimen, says poor mind, and hopefully tosses up another distraction.
I cannot teach – if I teach as teaching should be I become so exhausted I nearly die, I seem to have no middle gear.
The only way I can possibly heat my so-called mind up to working temperature is to imagine I’m talking to someone I admire.
Evil is the voltage of good; the urge to goodness, without the potential of evil, is trivial.
I dreamed horse and lived horse and expected, if necessary, to marry a horse; for all practical purposes I was a horse.
Anyone who shoots a real gun at you when drunk and angry is simply not husband material, regardless of his taste in literature.
You can understand why a system would seek information – but why in hell does it offer information? Why do we strive to be understood? Why is a refusal to accept communication so painful?
Any chance beats no chance.
Man is an animal whose dreams come true and kill him.