But The Face On The Pillow, Rosy

Because It's His Bad Luck To Be The Best.

We Rarely Get To Prepare Ourselves In Meadows Or On Graveled Walks; We Do It On Short Notice In Places Without Windows, Hospital Corridors, Rooms Like This Lounge With Its Cracked Plastic Sofa And Cinzano Ashtrays, Where The Cafe Curtains Cover Blank Concrete. In Rooms Like This, With So Little Time, We Prepare Our Gestures, Get Them By Heart So We Can Do Them When We're Frightened In The Face Of Doom.

When The Fox Hears The Rabbit Scream He Comes A-runnin', But Not To Help.

Being Smart Spoils A Lot Of Things, Doesn't It?

There Is A Common Emotion We All Recognize And Have Not Yet Named -- The Happy Anticipation Of Being Able To Feel Contempt.