For Me, In Fact, The Mark Of

Every Age Has A Keyhole To Which Its Eye Is Pasted.

The Things Of This World Reveal Their Essential Absurdity When They Are Put In The Venetian Context. In The Unreal Realm Of The Canals, As In A Swiftian Lilliput, The Real World, With Its Contrivances, Appears As A Vast Folly.

Labor Is Work That Leaves No Trace Behind It When It Is Finished.

Combativeness Was, I Suppose, The Dominant Trait In My Grandmother's Nature. An Aggressive Churchgoer, She Was Quite Without Christian Feeling; The Mercy Of The Lord Jesus Had Never Entered Her Heart. Her Piety Was An Act Of War Against Protestant Ascendancy. ...the Teachings Of The Church Did Not Interest Her, Except As They Were A Rebuke To Others.

Sex Annihilates Identity, And The Space Given To Sex In Contemporary Novels Is An Avowal Of The Absence Of Character.