I feel lazy enough, sitting around reading or working on a novel or a web site all day, and then on top of that, I get all tired. I only feel justified in exhaustion when I've actually done some real work that involved muscles besides my fingers. Could it be that hard thinking (regardless of its quality) really does cause a physical demand for sleep?
My image of writing is still a grizzled old genius by a typewriter; it ought to be the Burning Bush, or a chickadee, or Helen of Troy, or the ocean in fury, or anything besides a living room with a bestseller on the table.
"Thus, to lighten the mood and also conserve paper, by not wasting it, I took to appending fitting titles. There was “To: Ken Latke, Master of the House.” This must have intimidated the bank teller; he or she raised not a squawk. Not that I’d dreamed that they might. But when last month’s rent was addressed to “Ken Latke, Master of Revels,” that, it seems, was unacceptable. They refused to cash the check. "
Some Muslims, I might say, at least progressive Muslims, actually reverence Jesus more than we do Muhammad. Further, we have a special veneration for St. Thomas Aquinas. And we’re encouraged to go to Confession at least once a month. To a Catholic priest. Now, in proposing these fascinating ideas, I might be right or I might be wrong. But would I be Muslim? A progressive Muslim? Any kind of Muslim?
Seen in this light, the story features a rather narcissistic but mysteriously adorable young child whose only friends, really, are his teacher and her descendants (replenished yearly). All his love, respect, and devotion are for the Cavatica clan alone.
John Kerry, upon meeting Chesterton, would find himself forced to articulate a few positions in order to disagree with him. However, Chesterton would probably still be just as disgusted as ever with the Republican Party, if not moreso.