Finally You Begin To Make Your Mistakes

The Horror Of Our History Has Purged Me Of Opinions.

A Curious Thing About Written Literature: It Is About Four Thousand Years Old, But We Have No Way Of Knowing Whether Four Thousand Years Constitutes Senility Or The Maiden Blush Of Youth.

Self Knowledge Is Always Bad News.

Finally You Begin To Make Your Mistakes On The Highest Level-let's Say The Upper Slopes Of Slippery Parnassus-and It's At That Point You Need Coaching.

Is Man A Savage At Heart, Skinned O'er With Fragile Manners? Or Is Savagery But A Faint Taint In The Natural Man's Gentility, Which Erupts Now And Again Like Pimples On An Angel's Arse?