Perhaps The Truth Is That Heavy Literature Blooms In Extremes Of Temperature.
Unemployment Is Like A Headache Or A High Temperature - Unpleasant And Exhausting But Not Carrying In Itself Any Explanation Of Its Cause.
I Expect To Retire To A Fine-grained Heaven Where The Temperatures Are Always Consistent, Where The Images Slide Before One's Eyes In A Continual Cascade Of Form And Meaning.
