Could It Ever Be Explained, How Matter

No One Knows Anything, Really. It's All Rented, Or Borrowed.

Reading Groups, Readings, Breakdowns Of Book Sales All Tell The Same Story: When Women Stop Reading, The Novel Will Be Dead.

He Knew These Last Lines By Heart And Mouthed Them Now In The Darkness. My Reason For Life. Not Living, But Life. That Was The Touch. And She Was His Reason For Life, And Why He Must Survive.

What I've Discovered And Really Confirmed To Myself Is That Opera Really Likes Loud Colours, And You Need Something Bold, Something Savage, Unpredictable, Passionate. You Can't Really Run A Two-hour Opera Round Some Muted Murmuring.

I'm Delighted When People Respond With Passion And Readily Intensity To My Work. Literature Is Not As The Economist Would Put It A Positional Good; In Other Words, There Is Infinite Space For Good Literature.