Every Writer Knows He Is Spurious; Every

By Repetition, Each Lie Becomes An Irreversible Fact Upon Which Other Lies Are Constructed.

What Else Has A Journalist To Do These Days, After All, But Report Life's Miseries?

...also Took For Granted That Secret Services Were The Only Real Measure Of A Nations Political Health, The Only Real Expression Of Its Subconscious.

The Only Reward For Love Is The Experience Of Loving.

A Desk Is A Dangerous Place From Which To View The World.