Life Is Fits And Starts, Mostly Fits.

For Some Time Now The Impression Has Been Growing Upon Me That Everyone Is Dead. It Happens When I Speak To People. In The Middle Of A Sentence It Will Come Over Me: Yes, Beyond A Doubt This Is Death. There Is Little To Do But Groan And Make An Excuse And Slip Away As Quickly As One Can.

Ignorance, If Recognized, Is Often More Fruitful Than The Appearance Of Knowledge.

In A Word, The Consumer Of Mass Culture Is Lonely, Not Only Lonely, But Spiritually Impoverished.

What Needs To Be Discharged Is The Intolerable Tenderness Of The Past, The Past Gone And Grieved Over And Never Made Sense Of. Music Ransoms Us From The Past, Declares An Amnesty, Brackets And Sets Aside The Old Puzzles. Sing A New Song. Start A New Life, Get A Girl, Look Into Her Shadowy Eyes, Smile.

Life Is Fits And Starts, Mostly Fits.