With Every Physical Pain, My Moral Fibre

In New York, Pretending To Be Above The Struggle Means No Seat On The Bus And A Table Next To The Kitchen.

Shaw Writes As If It Were Always Midday.

Secrets Die When Kept Or Revealed. They Live By Being Faintly And Uncertainly Repeated.

Without Civilization, We Would Not Turn Into Animals, But Vegetables.

The Desire To Create Literature Leads To Frights, Grunts, And Coy Looks.