Life Is Sustained By The Grinding Opposition

Welly, Welly, Welly, Welly, Welly, Welly, Well. To What Do I Owe The Extreme Pleasure Of This Surprising Visit?

Life Is, Of Course, Terrible.

He Said It Was Artificial Respiration, But Now I Find I Am To Have His Child.

One Goes On Writing Partly Because It Is The Only Available Way Of Earning A Living. It Is A Hard Way And Highly Competitive. My Heart Drops Into My Bowels When I Enter A Bookshop And See How Fierce The Competition Is...there Is Also A Privier Reason For Pushing On, And That Is The Hopeless Hope That Someday That Intractable Enemy Language Will Yield To The Struggle To Control It... Mastery Never Comes, And One Serves A Lifelong Apprenticeship. The Writer Cannot Retire From The Battle; He Dies Fighting.

Oh, It Was Gorgeosity And Yumyumyum. When It Came To The Scherzo I Could Viddy Myself Very Clear Running And Running On Like The Very Light And Mysterious Nogas, Carving The Whole Litso Of The Creeching World With My Cut-throat Britva.