Alone, Lonely People Talk To Themselves. In

In Middle Age, I Practiced Feeling Old, But The Real Thing Has Been A Rude Surprise.

Posterity--the Forlorn Child Of Nineteenth Century Optimism--grows Ever Harder To Conceive.

Do As You Like--if You Know What It Is.

Those Who Follow Where Their Genitals Lead Them Often Wind Up In Tedious Company.

Every Representation, Even Of An Orgy, Is A Sublimation.