Love's A Disease. But Curable.

As To The Family, I Have Never Understood How That Fits In With The Other Ideals --or, Indeed, Why It Should Be An Ideal At All. A Group Of Closely Related Persons Living Under One Roof; It Is A Convenience, Often A Necessity, Sometimes A Pleasure, Sometimes The Reverse; But Who First Exalted It As Admirable, An Almost Religious Ideal?

Life, For All Its Agonies...is Exciting And Beautiful, Amusing And Artful And Endearing...and Whatever Is To Come After It -- We Shall Not Have This Life Again.

Miss My Daily Mass, And Have A Superstitious Feeling That Anything May Happen On The Days I Don't Go. However, Nothing In Particular Has.

Words, Living And Ghostly, The Quick And The Dead, Crowd And Jostle The Otherwise Too Empty Corridors Of My Mind ... To Move Among This Bright, Strange, Often Fabulous Herd Of Beings, To Summon Them At My Will, To Fasten Them On To Paper Like Flies, That They May Decorate It, This Is The Pleasure Of Writing.

Why Is Humanity So Excessive In The Way It Does Things? The Golden Mean Seems Out Of Fashion.