The Reason Men Are So Awful Is

Razzy Was Insulting Me Silently Somehow.

When Augustus Came Out On The Porch The Blue Pigs Were Eating A Rattlesnake—not A Very Big One. It Had Probably Just Been Crawling Around Looking For Shade When It Ran Into The Pigs. They Were Having A Fine Tug-of-war With It, And Its Rattling Days Were Over.

I Don't Do Well With Changes In My Routine. I Read At Least Three Newspapers A Day, For Example. I'm Frustrated If For Some Reason I Can't Get Ahold Of All Three.

Maybe You Can Make Art Out Of Unredeemed Pain, But Only If You're A Genius -- Dostoyevsky Perhaps.

Obviously, Where Art Has It Over Life Is In The Matter Of Editing. Life Can Be Seen To Suffer From A Drastic Lack Of Editing. It Stops Too Quick, Or Else It Goes On Too Long. Worse, Its Pacing Is Erratic. Some Chapters Are Little More Than A Few Sentences In Length, While Others Stretch Into Volumes. Life, For All Its Raw Talent, Has Little Sense Of Structure. It Creates Amazing Textures, But It Can't Be Counted On For Snappy Beginnings Or Good Endings Either. Indeed, In Many Cases No Ending Is Provided At All.