When You Suffer An Attack Of Nerves

There Is A Tiger In My Room,' Said Frances. 'did He Bite You?' Said Father. 'no,' Said Frances. 'did He Scratch You?' Said Mother. 'no,' Said Frances. 'then He Is A Friendly Tiger,' Said Father. 'he Will Not Hurt You. Go Back To Sleep.

An Ordinary Mirror Is Silvered At The Back But The Window Of The Night Train Has Darkness Behind The Glass. My Face And The Faces Of Other Travellers Were Now Mirrored On This Darkness In A Succession Of Stillnesses. Consider This, Said The Darkness: Any Motion At Any Speed Is A Succession Of Stillnesses; Any Section Through An Action Will Show Just Such A Plane Of Stillness As This Dark Window In Which Your Seeking Face Is Mirrored. And In Each Plane Of Stillness Is The Moment Of Clarity That Makes You Responsible For What You Do.

A Map Is The Dead Body Of Where You've Been. A Map Is The Unborn Baby Of Where You're Going. There Are No Maps. Maps Are Pictures Of What Isn't.

After All, When You Come Right Down To It, How Many People Speak The Same Language Even When They Speak The Same Language?

Is There An Existence That Is Only Mine?