Only The Opium Eater Truly Understands The

When I Remember My Family, I Always Remember Their Backs. They Were Always Indignantly Leaving Places.

Fiction Is Art And Art Is The Triumph Over Chaos (no Less) And We Can Accomplish This Only By The Most Vigilant Exercise Of Choice, But In A World That Changes More Swiftly That We Can Perceive There Is Always The Danger That Our Powers Of Selection Will Be Mistaken And That The Vision We Serve Will Come To Nothing.

Alice Malloy Had Dark, Stringy Hair, And Even Her Husband, Who Loved Her More Than He Knew, Was Sometimes Reminded By Her Lean Face Of A Tenement Doorway On A Rainy Day, For Her Countenance Was Long, Vacant, And Weakly Lighted, A Passage For The Gentle Transports And Miseries Of The Poor.

Our Country Is The Best Country In The World. We Are Swimming In Prosperity And Our President Is The Best President In The World. We Have Larger Apples And Better Cotton And Faster And More Beautiful Machines. This Makes Us The Greatest Country In The World. Unemployment Is A Myth. Dissatisfaction Is A Fable. In Preparatory School America Is Beautiful. It Is The Gem Of The Ocean And It Is Too Bad. It Is Bad Because People Believe It All. Because They Become Indifferent. Because They Marry And Reproduce And Vote And They Know Nothing.

At My Back I Hear The Word-"homosexual"-and It Seems To Split My World In Two.... It Is Ignorance, Our Ignorance Of One Another, That Creates This Terrifying Erotic Chaos. Information, A Crumb Of Information, Seems To Light The World.