I have to make my bones with Hollywood to get in. And when I do maybe I’ll metamorphose from Mr. Muscles or whatever it is I am now and become an irascible tosser.
Who is he who will affirm that there must be a web of flesh and bone to hold the shape of love?
Through all this horror my cat stalked unperturbed. Once I saw him monstrously perched atop a mountain of bones, and wondered at the secrets that might lie behind his yellow eyes.
Do what you love. Know your own bone; gnaw at it, bury it, unearth it, and gnaw it still. Do not be too moral. You may cheat yourself out of much life so. Aim above morality. Be not simply good; be good for something.