I Had A Quick Grasp Of The

Being A Real Writer Means Being Able To Do The Work On A Bad Day.

The Sense Of A Long Last Night Over Civilization Is Back Again; It Has Perhaps Not Been Here So Intensely In Thirty Years, Not Since The Nazis Were Prospering, But It Is Coming Back.

Los Angeles Is A Constellation Of Plastic.

There Is No Greater Impotence In All The World Like Knowing You Are Right And That The Wave Of The World Is Wrong, Yet The Wave Crashes Upon You.

I Guess All That's Left Is To Love The Fire.