Americans Are The Nicest, Most

The Mystery Lies In The Here And Now. The Mystery Is: What Is One To Do With Oneself? As You Get Older You Begin To Realize The Trick Time Is Playing, And That Unless You Do Something About It, The Passage Of Time Is Nothing But The Encroachment Of The Horrible Banality Of The Past On The Pure Future. The Past Devours The Future Like A Tape Recorder, Converting Pure Possibility Into Banality. The Present Is The Tape Head, The Mouth Of Time. Then Where Is The Mystery And Why Bother Kicking Through The Ashes? Because There Is A Clue In The Past.

Nowadays When A Person Lives Somewhere, In A Neighborhood, The Place Is Not Certified For Him. More Than Likely He Will Live There Sadly And The Emptiness Which Is Inside Him Will Expand Until It Evacuates The Entire Neighborhood. But If He Sees A Movie Which Shows His Very Neighborhood, It Becomes Possible For Him To Live, For A Time At Least, As A Person Who Is Somewhere And Not Anywhere.

Maybe There Are Times When An Honest Hatred Serves Us Better Than Love Corrupted By Sentimentality, Meretriciousness, Sententiousness, Cuteness.

The Search Is What Anyone Would Undertake If He Were Not Sunk In The Everydayness Of His Own Life. To Become Aware Of The Possibility Of The Search Is To Be Onto Something. Not To Be Onto Something Is To Be In Despair.

Like Many Young Men In The South, He Had Trouble Ruling Out The Possible. They Are Not Like An Immigrant's Son In Passaic Who Desires To Become A Dentist And That Is That. Southerners Have Trouble Ruling Out The Possible. What Happens To A... Man To Whom All Things Seem Possible And Every Course Of Action Open? Nothing Of Course.