I Respect A Man Who Can Recognize

Whhheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! The Scream Of Jet Engines Rises To A Crescendo On The Runways Of The World. Every Second, Somewhere Or Other, A Plane Touches Down, With A Puff Of Smoke From Scorched Tyre Rubber, Or Rises In The Air, Leaving A Smear Of Black Fumes Dissolving In Its Wake. From Space, The Earth Might Look To A Fanciful Eye Like A Huge Carousel, With Planes Instead Of Horses Spinning Round Its Circumference, Up And Down, Up And Down. Whhheeeeeeeeeee!

It Was Adam Appleby's Misfortune That At The Moment Of Awakening From Sleep His Consciousness Was Immediately Flooded With Everything He Least Wanted To Think About

Walt Whitman, He Who Laid End To End Words Never Seen In Each Other's Company Before Outside Of A Dictionary.

Jogging, I Believe They Call It. It Seems To Be An Epidemic Psychological Illness Afflicting Americans These Days. A Form Of Masochism, Like The Flagellantes In The Middle Ages.

Any Language Is Necessarily A Finite System Applied With Different Degrees Of Creativity To An Infinite Variety Of Situations, And Most Of The Words And Phrases We Use Are "prefabricated" In The Sense That We Don't Coin New Ones Every Time We Speak.