Vincent had ten major ideas every week: three brilliant, five good, and two ridiculous.

In that hothouse atmosphere, criminal records bloomed like orchids all around us.

You can handle the wheelchair," said the occupational therapist, with a smile intended to make the remark sound like good news, whereas to my ears it had the ring of a life sentence.

Want to play hangman? asks Theophile, and I ache to tell him that I have enough on my plate playing quadriplegic. But my communication system disqualifies repartee: the keenest rapier grows dull and falls flat when it takes several minutes to thrust it home. By the time you strike, even you no longer understand what had seemed so witty before you started to dictate it, letter by letter. So the rule is to avoid impulsive sallies. It deprives conversation of its sparkle, all those gems you bat back and forth like a ball-and I count this forced lack of humor one of the great drawbacks of my condition.

Sometimes, from the minds of brilliant men come the worst ideas. Communism was one of these ideas.

What we need is hatred. From it our ideas are born.