In all of us$$$ even in good men$$$ there is a lawless wild-beast nature$$$ which peers out in sleep.

I am not an Athenian or a Greek$$$ but a citizen of the world.

Please. Do me this one$$$ great favor$$$ Jones. If ever you hear anyone$$$ when you are back home...if ever you hear anyone speak of the East$$$" and here his voice plummeted a register$$$ and the tone was full and sad$$$ "hold your judgment. If you are told 'they are all this' or 'they do this' or 'their opinions are these$$$' withhold your judgment until all the facts are upon you.

I have vague memories$$$ like impressions on glass plates ...

He took twelve pictures that day. Within a few days he showed me the contact sheet. "This one has the magic$$$" he said. When I look at it now$$$ I never see me. I see us.

Writing is not some quiet$$$ closet act.

I understood that in this small space of time we had mutually surrendered our loneliness and replaced it with trust.

I immersed myself in books and rock 'n' roll$$$ the adolescent salvation ...

We went our separate ways$$$ but within walking distance of one another.

But secretly I knew I had been transformed$$$ moved by the revalation that human beings create art$$$ that to be an artist was to see what others could not.