When Book And Reader's Furrowed Brow Meet,

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.

We Converse As We Live By Repeating, By Combining And Recombining A Few Elements Over And Over Again Just As Nature Does When Of Elementary Particles It Builds A World.

The Body Of Our Saviour Shat But Our Saviour Shat Not.

If Death Itself Were To Die, Would It Have A Ghost, And Would The Ghost Of Death Visit The Dead In The Guise Of Someone Alive, If Only To Fright Them From Any Temptation To Return?

The Word Itself Has Another Color. It’s Not A Word With Any Resonance, Although The E Was Once Pronounced. There Is Only The Bump Now Between B And L, The Relief At The End, The Whew. It Hasn’t The Sly Turn Which Crimson Takes Halfway Through, Yellow’s Deceptive Jelly, Or The Rolled-down Sound In Brown. It Hasn’t Violet’s Rapid Sexual Shudder Or Like A Rough Road The Irregularity Of Ultramarine, The Low Puddle In Mauve Like A Pancake Covered In Cream, The Disapproving Purse To Pink, The Assertive Brevity Of Red, The Whine Of Green.