Do You Have Any Idea How Much

I Just Think I'm Better Equipped To Make A Study Of Human Personality Than Trying To Get Into The Mind Of Animals.

I Don't Like Outlining, Because Books Are Organic Things. Sometimes A Book Doesn't Want To Be Written In A Certain Way.

He Stares At Me, And Then Leans Back In His Chair. "he's Ill, Jacob." I Say Nothing. "he's A Paragon Schnitzophonic." "he's What?!" "paragon Schnitzophonic," Repeats Uncle Al. "you Mean Paranoid Schizophrenic?" "sure. Whatever. But The Bottom Line Is He's Mad As A Hatter.

I Am Ninety. Or Ninety-three. One Or The Other.

The More Distressing The Memory, The More Persistent It's Presence.