My Occupational Hazard Is That

Making Love, We Are All More Alike Than We Are When We Are Talking Or Acting.

The Fact Is That Gardening, More Than Most Of Our Other Activities Except Sometimes Love-making, Confronts Us With The Inexplicable.

Labor Is Work That Leaves No Trace Behind It When It Is Finished, Or If It Does, As In The Case Of The Tilled Field, This Product Of Human Activity Requires Still More Labor, Incessant, Tireless Labor, To Maintain Its Identity As A 'work' Of Man.

As Soon As You Become A Writer, You Lose Contact With Ordinary Experience Or Tend To. ... The Worst Fate Of A Writer Is To Become A Writer.

In Moments Of Despair, We Look On Ourselves Lead-enly As Objects; We See Ourselves, Our Lives, As Someone Else Might See Them And May Even Be Driven To Kill Ourselves If The Separation, The "knowledge," Seems Sufficiently Final.