I Don't Ask For The Meaning Of

Today There Are A Lot Of Novelists Who Seem To Be Writing To Be Reviewed, Not Read.

Just Like That. Gone Forever. They Will Not Grow Old Together. They Will Never Live On A Beach By The Sea, Their Hair Turned White, Dancing In A Living Room To Billie Holiday Or Nat Cole. They Will Not Enter A New York Club At Midnight And Show The Poor Hip-hop Fools How To Dance. They Will Not Chuckle Together Over The Endless Folly Of The World, Its Vanities And Stupid Ambitions. They Will Not Hug Each Other In Any Chilly New York Dawn. Oh, Mary Lou. My Baby. My Love.

I Don't Ask For The Meaning Of The Song Of A Bird Or The Rising Of The Sun On A Misty Morning. There They Are, And They Are Beautiful.

It's Odd Being An American Now. Most Of Us Are Peaceful, But Here We Are Again, In Our Fifth Major War Of This Century.

This Is Truly Marvelous Work Full Of Mystery, Nostalgia, Joy, The Color Of Whimsy.