Art, At Any Rate In A Novel,

There Is No End To The Violations Committed By Children On Children, Quietly Talking Alone.

No Object Is Mysterious. The Mystery Is Your Eye.

Each Of Us Keeps, Battened Down Inside Himself, A Sort Of Lunatic Giant; Impossible Socially, But Full Scale; And It's The Knockings And Battering We Sometimes Hear In Each Other That Keep Our Banter From Utter Banality.

It Is Not Our Exalted Feelings, It Is Our Sentiments That Build The Necessary Home.

The Novel Does Not Simply Recount Experience, It Adds To Experience.