His insides are beginning to feel sickly. The pain of the world is a crater all these syrups and pills a thousandfold would fail to fill. - John Updike

"I Missed His Book, But I Read His Name"

Though authors are a dreadful clan
To be avoided if you can,
I'd like to meet the Indian,
M. Anantanarayanan.

I picture him as short and tan.
We'd meet, perhaps, in Hindustan.
I'd say, with admirable elan ,
"Ah, Anantanarayanan — I've heard of you. The Times once ran
A notice on your novel, an
Unusual tale of God and Man."
And Anantanarayanan

Would seat me on a lush divan
And read his name — that sumptuous span
Of 'a's and 'n's more lovely than
"In Xanadu did Kubla Khan" — Aloud to me all day. I plan
Henceforth to be an ardent fan
of Anantanarayanan — M. Anantanarayanan.

[Nelson, re watching TV] He watches until he feels his intelligence being too rudely insulted or his patience being too arrogantly tested by the commercials...

I like old men. They can be wonderful bastards because they have nothing to lose. The only people who can be themselves are babies and old bastards.