Books Are The Way The Dead Talk

No Single Person Who Has Ever Lived Will Be Able To Tell You What Happens. Period. Nobody's Right And Nobody's Wrong.

All Of Nature Talks To Me - If I Could Just Figure Out What It's Saying - Trees Are Swinging In The Breeze. They're Talking To Me. Insects Are Rubbing Their Legs Together. They're All Talking. They're Talking To Me.

. . . I Wrote A Letter To Thomas Pynchon Asking, Can I Have Your Permission To Try To Make An [adaptation] Of Your Book? And I Had No Idea That He Would Answer Me, Because He's Pretty Elusive. But He Did Send A Letter Back That Said, Yes, You Can Do That - As Long As The Only Instrument In The Opera Is A Banjo. I Thought, That's An Interesting Way Of Saying No.

Dogs Don't Just Like Us, They Love Us, And They Admire Us. The Big Reason They Admire Us Is We Invented Cars. They're Like, "yes, We Get To Go Somewhere!" Go Somewhere Faster, With Their Head Out The Window, And Their Ears, Like, "yes! Yes!"

Writers Want To Summarize: What Does This Mean? What Did We Learn From This? That's A Very 19th-century Way Of Thinking About Art, Because It Assumes That It Should Make Our Lives Better Or Teach Us Something.