Small Disconnected Facts, If You

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.

Americans Are The Nicest, Most Generous, And Sentimental People On Earth. Yet Americans Have Killed More Unborn Children Than Any Nation In History.

Nobody But A Southerner Knows The Wrenching Rinsing Sadness Of The Cities Of The North.

But What Physician Has Not Had Patients Who Don't Make Any Sense At All? To Tell The Truth, They're Our Stock-in-trade. We Talk And Write About The Ones We Can Make Sense Of.

They All Think Any Minute I'm Going To Commit Suicide. What A Joke. The Truth Of Course Is The Exact Opposite: Suicide Is The Only Thing That Keeps Me Alive. Whenever Everything Else Fails, All I Have To Do Is Consider Suicide And In Two Seconds I'm As Cheerful As A Nitwit. But If I Could Not Kill Myself -- Ah Then, I Would. I Can Do Without Nembutal Or Murder Mysteries But Not Without Suicide.