Facts now seem important.
 If Tina Fey’s impression of Sarah Palin hadn’t been based closely on verbatim transcripts of Palin’s performances, it wouldn’t have been remotely funny, and it wouldn’t have affected the election; its comedy derived precisely from its scrupulous reframing of the real.
 Facts have gravitas.
 In order to make it easier to handle, Darwin would cut a large book in half; he’d also tear out any chapters he didn’t find of interest.
 The illusion of facts will suffice.
 Reality-based art hijacks its material and doesn’t apologize.
 This is the wager, isn’t it? It’s by remaining faithful to the contingencies and peculiarities of your own existence and the vagaries of your own nature that you stand the greatest chance of conveying something universal.
 Self-study of any seriousness aspires to myth. Thus do we endlessly inscribe and magnify ourselves.
 A man’s life of any worth is a continual allegory.
 What is true in your private heart is true for all men.
 All our stories are the same.
 Every man has within himself the entire human condition.
 Deep down, you know you’re him.
_____________________________Some recognition goes to David Shield’s book, Reality Hunger, for providing these chewy didactic bits. This in spite of . If “Genius borrows nobly”, I hope to have a little of it, genius–his or otherwise–rub off on me.