For The Masses Who Do The City's

It Is Strange How Fragile This Man-creature Is.....in One Second He's Just Garbage. Garbage, That's All.

He Was Falling Between Glacial Walls, He Didn't Know How Anyone Could Fall So Far Away From Everyone Else In The World. So Far To Fall, So Cold All The Way, So Steep And Dark Between Those Morphine-coloured Walls.

A Book, A True Book, Is The Writer's Confessional. For, Whether He Would Have It So Or Not, He Is Betrayed, Directly Or Indirectly, By His Characters, Into Presenting Publicly His Innermost Feelings.

The Avocation Of Assessing The Failures Of Better Men Can Be Turned Into A Comfortable Livelihood, Providing You Back It Up With A Ph.d.

Our Myths Are So Many, Our Vision So Dim, Our Self-deception So Deep And Our Smugness So Gross That Scarcely Any Way Now Remains Of Reporting The American Century Except From Behind The Billboards.