As careful mothers do to sleeping lay / Their babes which would too long the wanton play, / So to prevent my youth’s approaching crimes, / Nature, my nurse, had me to bed betimes.
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As careful mothers do to sleeping lay / Their babes which would too long the wanton play, / So to prevent my youth’s approaching crimes, / Nature, my nurse, had me to bed betimes.
“Why does language subvert me, subvert my seniority, my medals, my oldness, whenever it gets a chance? What does language have against me—me that has been good to it, respecting its little peculiarities and nicilosities, for sixty years? …What do ‘years’ have against me? Why have they stuck stones in my kidneys, devaluated my tumulosity, retracted my hair? …Where does ‘hair’ go when it dies?”
Donald Barthelme | “A Picture History of the War”