Life Is A Wretched Gray Saturday, But

Writers Are Rarely Their Own Best Critics, Nor Are Critics.

You Don't Say, 'i've Done It!' You Come, With A Kind Of Horrible Desperation, To Realize That This Will Do.

Life Is Sustained By The Grinding Opposition Of Moral Entities.

Every Grain Of Experience Is Food For The Greedy Growing Soul Of The Artist.

How Wicked, My Brothers, Innocent Milk Must Always Seem To Me Now.