...the Plural Of Elf Is Elves! What

He Spoke Of Human Solitude, About The Intrinsic Loneliness Of A Sophisticated Mind, One That Is Capable Of Reason And Poetry But Which Grasps At Straws When It Comes To Understanding Another, A Mind Aware Of The Impossibility Of Absolute Understanding. The Difficulty Of Having A Mind That Understands That It Will Always Be Misunderstood.

Don’t You See?” I Said. “he Could Change Every Detail, But He Couldn’t Change Her.” “but Why?” His Obtuseness Frustrated Me. “because He Was In Love With Her!” I Said. “because, To Him, She Was The Only Thing That Was Real.

Life In General In My Experience Gets Deeper And Deeper, More And More Profound, More And More Complex, The Older One Gets.

Maybe The First Time You Saw Her You Were Ten. She Was Standing In The Sun Scratching Her Legs. Or Tracing Letters In The Dirt With A Stick. Her Hair Was Being Pulled. Or She Was Pulling Someone's Hair. And A Part Of You Was Drawn To Her, And A Part Of You Resisted--wanting To Ride Off On Your Bicycle, Kick A Stone, Remain Uncomplicated. In The Same Breath You Felt The Strength Of A Man, And A Self-pity That Made You Feel Small And Hurt. Part Of You Thought: Please Don't Look At Me. If You Don't, I Can Still Turn Away. And Part Of You Thought: Look At Me.

That He Liked To Think Of Himself As A Philosopher. That He Questioned All Things, Even The Most Simple, To The Extent That When Someone Passing Him On The Street Raised His Hat And Said, 'good Day,' Litvinoff Often Paused So Long To Weigh Evidence That By The Time He'd Settled On An Answer The Person Had Gone On His Way, Leaving Him Standing Alone.