If You Don't Know Why You Like

It's Very Hard To Write About That Which Is Always Beautiful And Pleasant And Good. You Don't Get Anywhere With It. There's No Friction In It. There's No Trouble. You Have To Have Trouble. Somebody's Got To Get In Trouble, Or No One Wants To Read It.

Everyone Is Isolated From Everyone Else. The Concept Of Society Is Like A Cushion To Protect Us From The Knowledge Of That Isolation. A Fiction That Serves As An Anesthetic.

There Is A Way To Master Silence Control Its Curves, Inhabit Its Dark Corners And Listen To The Hiss Of Time Outside

Because Neither She Nor Port Had Ever Lived A Life Of Any Kind Of Regularity, They Had Both Made The Fatal Error Of Coming Hazily To Regard Time As Non-existent. One Year Was Like Another Year. Eventually Everything Would Happen.

[a]nother Important Difference Between Tourist And Traveler Is That The Former Accepts His Own Civilization Without Question; Not So The Traveler, Who Compares It With The Others, And Rejects Those Elements He Finds Not To His Liking.