Books: A Beautifully Browsable Invention That Needs

I Don't Do All That Well In The Writerly World. I'm Happier Being Outside The Flow.

In Fact, You Could Make The Argument That A Historian Like Shlomo Aronson Does In Passing In One Of His Books, That The Bombing Campaign United The German Nation Behind Hitler, And Actually Contributed To The Sustaining Of His Power.

When The Excessively Shy Force Themselves To Be Forward, They Are Frequently Surprisingly Unsubtle And Overdirect And Even Rude: They Have Entered An Extreme Region Beyond Their Normal Personality, An Area Of Social Crime Where Gradations Don't Count; Unavailable To Them Are The Instincts And Taboos That Booming Extroverts, Who Know The Territory Of Self-advancement Far Better, Can Rely On.

As Soon As You Start Doing That - Changing Things - It Seems Self-evident To Me That You've Entered The World Of Make-believe. If You Pretend That It's True, And Use Your Own Name, You Are Misleading People. Fiction Is Looser And Wilder And Sometimes In The End More Self-revealing, Anyway.

The Force Of Truth That A Statement Imparts, Then, Its Prominence Among The Hordes Of Recorded Observations That I May Optionally Apply To My Own Life, Depends, In Addition To The Sense That It Is Argumentatively Defensible, On The Sense That Someone Like Me, And Someone I Like, Whose Voice Is Audible And Who Is At Least Notionally In The Same Room With Me, Does Or Can Possibly Hold It To Be Compellingly True.