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"Wtf is this bullshit? Fuck off!" said Alex, flinging the book against a wall. The book was light but the wall was heavy. The lightness of the book was such that anyone must think, due to the distance from which the book bounced off the wall without denting it, that truly, nothing is heavier than that wall. But it was only because the book was so light, by comparison with the wall, that anyone could reach that conclusion; it was a perception borne of limited experience with light and heavy things. For truly, a great many things were heavier than that wall, such as a train, or Saturn.

But what is the act if throwing a book against a wall if not the desire for another, less shitty, less smug and self-satisfied book? Well it could be a great many things, such as an attempt to kill a spider, or the momentary surrender of a child to its most destructive tendencies. Hmm, I guess the danger of turning everything into an aphorism or homily is that what you may produce is a lot of stuff which is revealed to be shallow, pretentious drivel as soon as the reader gives even five seconds of consideration to anything the author says.

And then they made love.