Saying is inventing. Wrong, very rightly wrong. You invent nothing, you think you are inventing, you think you are escaping, and all you do is stammer out your lesson, the remnants of a pensum one day got by heart and long forgotten, life without tears, as it is wept. To hell with it anyway. Where was I.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Molloy - pg. 32
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment