I'm Very Militant, You Know, In A

I'm Horrified To Find, As I Look At These Diaries Of Twenty-five Years Ago Or More, That I Don't Remember Who The People Were. "bill And Tony Were Constantly In And Out. We Went To La Jolla" - Or Something. I Haven't The Bluest Idea Who They Were!

Someone Has To Ask You A Question," George Continues Meaningly, "before You Can Answer It. But It's So Seldom You Find Anyone Who'll Ask The Right Questions. Most People Aren't That Much Interested.

I Certainly Should Have,' He Agrees, Smiling And Thinking What An Absurd And Universally-accepted Bit Of Nonsense It Is, That Your Best Friends Must Necessarily Be The Ones Who Best Understand You. As If There Weren't Far Too Much Understanding In The World Already; Above All, That Understanding Between Lovers, Celebrated In Song And Story, Which Is Actually Such Torture That No Two Of Them Can Bear It Without Frequent Separations Or Fights.

I'm Very Militant, You Know, In A Quite Way.

These Books Have Not Made George Nobler Or Better Or More Truly Wise. It Is Just That He Likes Listening To Their Voices, The One Or The Other, Acording To His Mood. He Misuses Them Quite Ruthlessly - Despite The Respectful Way He Has To Talk About Them In Public - To Put Him To Bed, To Take His Mind Off The Hands Of The Clock, To Relax The Nagging Of His Pyloric Spasm, To Gossip Him Out Of His Melancholy, To Trigger The Conditioned Reflexes Of His Colon.