Confession Ran In The Family.

Almost Any Tale Of Our Doings Is Comic. We Are Bottomlessly Comic To Each Other. Even The Most Adored And Beloved Person Is Comic To His Lover. The Novel Is A Comic Form. Language Is A Comic Form, And Makes Jokes In Its Sleep. God, If He Existed, Would Laugh At His Creation. Yet It Is Also The Case That Life Is Horrible, Without Metaphysical Sense, Wrecked By Chance, Pain And The Close Prospect Of Death. Out Of This Is Born Irony, Our Dangerous And Necessary Tool.

All Art Deals With The Absurd And Aims At The Simple. Good Art Speaks Truth, Indeed Is Truth, Perhaps The Only Truth.

Perhaps When Distant People On Other Planets Pick Up Some Wavelength Of Ours All They Hear Is A Continuous Scream.

But Fantasy Kills Imagination, Pornography Is Death To Art.

Good Writing Is Full Of Surprises And Novelties, Moving In A Direction You Don't Expect.