Awe Consumes Any Brand That Ignites It.

Old Saws Have No Teeth.

The Imagination Is A Species Of Knowledge, Knowledge That Can Take The Form Of Discovery.

A Writer Is Dreamed And Transfigured Into Being By Spells, Wishes, Goldfish, Silhouettes Of Trees, Boxes Of Fairy Tales Dropped In The Mud, Uncles' And Cousins' Books, Tablets And Capsules And Powders...and Then One Day You Find Yourself Leaning Here, Writing On That Round Glass Table Salvaged From The Park View Pharmacy--writing This, An Impossibility, A Summary Of Who You Came To Be Where You Are Now, And Where, God Knows, Is That?

If Ideas Are What Feed Serious Literature And Arresting Language, Who Today Is Writing A Novel Of Ideas (which Can Often Mean Comedy)? I Think Of Joshua Cohen. Who Else?

There's A Paradox In Rereading. You Read The First Time For Rediscovery: An Encounter With The Confirming Emotions. But You Reread For Discovery: You Go To The Known To Figure Out The Workings Of The Unknown, The Why Of The Familiar How.