Beat Him, Eat Him And Get Out.

You Don't Write About The Horrors Of War. No. You Write About A Kid's Burnt Socks Lying In The Road.

I Write Because I Write - As Anyone In The Arts Does. You're A Painter Because You Feel You Have No Choice But To Paint. You're A Writer Because This Is What You Do.

Some Day, My Son, You Are Going To Learn That The Two Greatest Joys Of Being A Man Are Beating The Hell Out Of Someone And Getting The Hell Beaten Out Of You, Good Night.

The Kind Of Event On A Conveyor Belt That Causes A Fire Occurs In A Variety Of Industrial Environments, Not Uniquely In Coal Environments.

I'd Love To Be A Saxophonist. I Don't Know Why, But I Pretend I'm The Saxophonist When I Listen To Music. I Have About As Much Chance Playing The Sax As I Do Learning How To Fly.