The Body Of Our Saviour Shat But

We Must Take Our Sentences Seriously, Which Means We Must Understand Them Philosophically, And The Odd Thing Is That The Few Who Do, Who Take Them With Utter Sober Seriousness, The Utter Sober Seriousness Of Right-wing Parsons And Political Saviors, The Owners Of Pomeranians, Are The Liars Who Want To Be Believed, The Novelists And Poets, Who Know That The Creatures They Imagine Have No Other Being Than The Sounding Syllables Which The Reader Will Speak Into His Own Weary And Distracted Head. There Are No Magic Words. To Say The Words Is Magical Enough.

As A Teacher, It's A Great Help To Be Teaching Philosophical Systems You Don't Believe. You Can Actually Do A Better Job Of Presenting Them If You Leave Your Beliefs At The Door.

Freud Thought That A Psychosis Was A Waking Dream, And That Poets Were Daydreamers Too, But I Wonder If The Reverse Is Not As Often True, And That Madness Is A Fiction Lived In Like A Rented House

What Else Is Soul But A Listener?

We Have Scarcely Gotten Home ... When Our Children's Sneezes Greet Us, Skinned Knees Bleed After Waiting All Day To Do So. There Is The Bellyache And The Burned-out Basement Bulb, The Stalled Car And The Incontinent Cat. The Windows Frost, The Toilets Sweat, The Body Of Our Spouse Is One Cold Shoulder And The Darkness Of Our Bedroom Is Soon Full Of The Fallen Shadows Of Our Failures.