I'd Never Understood The Injunction Not To

There Are Only So Many Ways To Experience Pain. There Are An Almost Limitless Number Of Ways To Inflict It, But The Pain Itself, Initially Vividly Distinct In All Its Specifications, Becomes, Inevitably, Just Pain.

My Parents Were Hippies, And The Story Is That They Went Through A Dictionary Looking For A Beautiful Word To Name Me. They Nearly Called Me Banyan, But Flipped A Few Pages On And Reached "china," Thankfully. The Other Reason They Liked It Is That "china" Is Cockney Rhyming Slang For "mate." People Say "my Old China," Meaning "my Old Mate," Because "china Plate" Rhymes With "mate.

Personally I Don't Like It When Writers Become Excessively Proscriptive About The Way That People Read Their Books.

The Problem With Most Genre Fantasy Is That It's Not Nearly Fantastic Enough. It's Escapist, But It Can't Escape.

While Yes We Can Both Agree The Sudden Recovery Of This Footage Smells Not A Little, And That We Appear To Be Bits Of Tinfoil-on-string To Some Malevolent Government Kitten, Yes Yes Yes But, Borlu, However They've Come By This Evidence, This Is The Correct Decision.