Freebsd Fortunes 4

How come everyone's going so slow if it's called rush hour?

How come financial advisors never seem to be as wealthy as they
claim they'll make you?

How come we never talk anymore?

How come wrong numbers are never busy?

How comes it to pass, then, that we appear such cowards
in reasoning, and are so afraid to stand the test of ridicule?
                -- A. Cooper

How could they think women a recreation?
Or the repetition of bodies of steady interest?
Only the ignorant or the busy could.  That elm
of flesh must prove a luxury of primes;
be perilous and dear with rain of an alternate earth.
Which is not to damn the forested China of touching.
I am neither priestly nor tired, and the great knowledge
of breasts with their loud nipples congregates in me.
The sudden nakedness, the small ribs, the mouth.
Splendid.  Splendid.  Splendid.  Like Rome.  Like loins.
A glamour sufficient to our long marvelous dying.
I say sufficient and speak with earned privilege,
for my life has been eaten in that foliate city.
To ambergris.  But not for recreation.
I would not have lost so much for recreation.

Nor for love as the sweet pretend: the children's game
of deliberate ignorance of each to allow the dreaming.
Not for the impersonal belly nor the heart's drunkenness
have I come this far, stubborn, disastrous way.
But for relish of those archipelagoes of person.
To hold her in hand, closed as any sparrow,
and call and call forever till she turn from bird
to blowing woods.  From woods to jungle.  Persimmon.
To light.  From light to princess.  From princess to woman
in all her fresh particularity of difference.
Then oh, through the underwater time of night
indecent and still, to speak to her without habit.
This I have done with my life, and am content.
I wish I could tell you how it is in that dark,
standing in the huge singing and the alien world.
                -- Jack Gilbert, "Don Giovanni on his way to Hell"

How do you explain school to a higher intelligence?
                -- Elliot, "E.T."

"How do you know she is a unicorn?" Molly demanded.  "And why were you afraid
to let her touch you?  I saw you.  You were afraid of her."
        "I doubt that I will feel like talking for very long," the cat
replied without rancor.  "I would not waste time in foolishness if I were
you.  As to your first question, no cat out of its first fur can ever be
deceived by appearances.  Unlike human beings, who enjoy them.  As for your
second question --"  Here he faltered, and suddenly became very interested
in washing; nor would he speak until he had licked himself fluffy and then
licked himself smooth again.  Even then he would not look at Molly, but
examined his claws.
        "If she had touched me," he said very softly, "I would have been
hers and not my own, not ever again."
                -- Peter S. Beagle, "The Last Unicorn"

How doth the little crocodile
        Improve his shining tail,
And pour the waters of the Nile
        On every golden scale!

How cheerfully he seems to grin,
        How neatly spreads his claws,
And welcomes little fishes in,
        With gently smiling jaws!

How doth the VAX's C-compiler
        Improve its object code.
And even as we speak does it
        Increase the system load.

How patiently it seems to run
        And spit out error flags,
While users, with frustration, all
        Tear their clothes to rags.