I Guess All That's Left Is To

We Are Close To Dead. There Are Faces And Bodies Like Gorged Maggots On The Dance Floor, On The Highway, In The City, In The Stadium; They Are A Host Of Chemical Machines Who Swallow The Product Of Chemical Factories, Aspirin, Preservatives, Stimulant, Relaxant, And Breathe Out Their Chemical Wastes Into A Polluted Air. The Sense Of A Long Last Night Over Civilization Is Back Again.

One Thing I've Learned In All These Years Is Not To Make Love When You Really Don't Feel It; There's Probably Nothing Worse You Can Do To Yourself Than That.

Growth Is A Greater Mystery Than Death. All Of Us Can Understand Failure, We All Contain Failure And Death Within Us, But Not Even The Successful Man Can Begin To Describe The Impalpable Elations And Apprehensions Of Growth.

A Book Of Great Beauty And Manically Exquisite Insight With A Wild And Deadly Humor . . . The Only American Novelist Who May Conceivably Be Possessed By Genius.

To Blame The Poor For Subsisting On Welfare Has No Justice Unless We Are Also Willing To Judge Every Rich Member Of Society By How Productive He Or She Is. Taken Individual By Individual, It Is Likely That There's More Idleness And Abuse Of Government Favors Among The Economically Privileged Than Among The Ranks Of The Disadvantaged.