I Could Come Back To America..to Die..but

I Have In My Own Fashion Learned The Lesson That Life Is Effort, Unremittingly Repeated.

I Don't Care Anything About Reasons, But I Know What I Like.

The Only Reason For The Existence Of A Novel Is That It Does Attempt To Represent Life.

The Faculty Of Attention Has Utterly Vanished From The Anglo-saxon Mind, Extinguished At Its Source By The Big Bayad?re Of Journalism, Of The Newspaper And The Picture Magazine Which Keeps Screaming, "look At Me." Illustrations, Loud Simplifications... Bill Poster Advertising ? Only These Stand A Chance.

The Fatal Futility Of Fact.