A Good Title Is The Title Of

James Cain - Faugh! Everything He Touches Smells Like A Billygoat. He Is Every Kind Of Writer I Detest, A Faux Naix, A Proust In Greasy Overalls, A Dirty Little Boy With A Piece Of Chalk And A Board Fence And Nobody Looking. Such People Are The Offal Of Literature, Not Because They Write About Dirty Things, But Because They Do It In A Dirty Way.

It Is Just Possible That The Tensions In A Novel Of Murder Are The Simplest And Yet Most Complete Pattern Of The Tensions On Which We Live In This Generation.

But Nothing Seems To Do Any Good.

All Men Who Read Escape From Something Else Into What Lies Behind The Printed Page; The Quality Of The Dream May Be Argued, But Its Release Has Become A Functional Necessity.

I've Found That There Are Only Two Kinds That Are Any Good: Slang That Has Established Itself In The Language, And Slang That You Make Up Yourself. Everything Else Is Apt To Be Passe Before It Gets Into Print.