The More I Suffer, The

I Didn't Like The Way I Looked, The Way I Dressed And Moved, What I Achieved And What I Felt I Was Worth. But There Was So Much Energy In Me, Such Belief That One Day I'd Be Handsome And Clever And Superior And Admired, Such Anticipation When I Met New People And New Situations. Is That What Makes Me Sad? The Eagerness And Belief That Filled Me Then And Exacted A Pledge From Life That Life Could Never Fulfill? Sometimes I See The Same Eagerness And Belief In The Faces Of Children And Teenagers And The Sight Brings Back The Same Sadness I Feel In Remembering Myself.

People Who Commit Monstrous Crimes Are Not Necessarily Monsters. If They Were, Things Would Be Easy. But They Aren't And It Is One Of The Experiences Of Life.

The Tectonic Layers Of Our Lives Rest So Tightly One On Top Of The Other That We Always Come Up Against Earlier Events In Later Ones, Not As Matter That Has Been Fully Formed And Pushed Aside, But Absolutely Present And Alive. I Understand This. Nonetheless, I Sometimes Find It Hard To Bear.

What Is Law? Is It What Is On The Books, Or What Is Actually Enacted And Obeyed In A Society? Or Is Law What Must Be Enacted And Obeyed, Whether Or Not It Is On The Books, If Things Are To Go Right?

The Odyssey Is The Story Of Motion Both Purposeful And Purposeless, Successful And Futile. What Else Is The History Of Law?