The Sea Only Drowns Its Lovers.

Staring And Staring Into The Mirror, It Sees Many Faces Within Its Face - The Face Of The Child, The Boy, The Young Man, The Not-so-young Man - All Present Still, Preserved Like Fossils On Superimposed Layers, And, Like Fossils, Dead. Their Message To This Live Dying Creature Is: Look At Us - We Have Died - What Is There To Be Afraid Of? It Answers Them: But That Happened So Gradually, So Easily. I'm Afraid Of Being Rushed.

These Books Have Not Made George Nobler Or Better Or More Truly Wise. It Is Just That He Likes Listening To Their Voices, The One Or The Other, Acording To His Mood. He Misuses Them Quite Ruthlessly - Despite The Respectful Way He Has To Talk About Them In Public - To Put Him To Bed, To Take His Mind Off The Hands Of The Clock, To Relax The Nagging Of His Pyloric Spasm, To Gossip Him Out Of His Melancholy, To Trigger The Conditioned Reflexes Of His Colon.

Lois And Alexander Are By Far The Most Beautiful Creatures In The Class; Their Beauty Is Like The Beauty Of Plants, Seemingly Untroubled By Vanity, Anxiety Or Effort.

I'm Very Militant, You Know, In A Quite Way.

Think Of Two People, Living Together Day After Day, Year After Year, In This Small Space, Standing Elbow To Elbow Cooking At The Same Small Stove, Squeezing Past Each Other On The Narrow Stairs, Shaving In Front Of The Same Small Bathroom Mirror, Constantly Jogging, Jostling, Bumping Against Each Other’s Bodies By Mistake Or On Purpose, Sensually, Aggressively, Awkwardly, Impatiently, In Rage Or In Love – Think What Deep Though Invisible Tracks They Must Leave, Everywhere, Behind Them!