The Press May Hate Me, And I

The World Outside Had Its Own Rules, And Those Rules Were Not Human.

When We Think About The Present, We Veer Wildly Between The Belief In Chance And The Evidence In Favour Of Determinism. When We Think About The Past, However, It Seems Obvious That Everything Happened In The Way That It Was Intended.

I Think She Is Going To Find You Too Old... Yes That Was It, The Moment She Said It I Knew It Was True, And The Revelation Caused Me No Surprise, It Was Like The Echo Of A Dull, Not Unexpected Shock. The Age Difference Was The Last Taboo, The Final Limit, All The Stronger For The Fact That It Remained The Last And Had Replaced All The Others. In The Modern World You Could Be A Swinger, Bi, Trans, Zoo Into S&m, But It Was Forbidden To Be Old.

Without Beauty A Girl Is Unhappy Because She Has Missed Her Chance To Be Loved. People Do Not Jeer At Her, They Are Not Cruel To Her, But It Is As If She Were Invisible, No Eyes Follow Her As She Walks. People Feel Uncomfortable When They Are With Her. They Find It Easier To Ignore Her. A Girl Who Is Exceptionally Beautiful, On The Other Hand, Who Has Something Which Too Far Surpasses The Customary Seductive Freshness Of Adolescence, Appears Somehow Unreal. Great Beauty Seems Invariably To Portend Some Tragic Fate.

Those Who Love Life Do Not Read. Nor Do They Go To The Movies, Actually. No Matter What Might Be Said, Access To The Artistic Universe Is More Or Less Entirely The Preserve Of Those Who Are A Little Fed Up With The World.