I Do Think That Art That Doesn't

Maybe There Is A Beast… Maybe It's Only Us.

Heaven Lies Around Us In Our Infancy.

The Skull Regarded Ralph Like One Who Knows All The Answers And Won't Tell.

I Really Feel The Novel Has Certain Conveniences About It And Has Something So Fundamental About It You Could Almost Say That As Long As There Is Paper, There Is Going To Be The Novel.

I Will Tell You What Man Is. He Is A Freak, An Ejected Foetus Robbed Of His Natural Development, Thrown Out Into The World With A Naked Covering Of Parchment, With Too Little Room For His Teeth And A Soft Bulging Skull Like A Bubble. But Nature Stirs A Pudding There.