Maybe The Best Thing Would Be To

The Book Really Comes To Life In The Rewriting.

Nothing Lasts And Yet Nothing Passes Either, And Nothing Passes Just Because Nothing Lasts.

No Matter How Much You Know, No Matter How Much You Think, No Matter How Much You Plot And You Connive And You Plan, You're Not Superior To Sex. It's A Very Risky Game.... It's Sex That Disorders Our Normally Ordered Lives.

I Kept Waiting For Him To Lay Bare Something More Than This Pointed Unobjectionableness, But All That Rose To The Surface Was More Surface

I Think I Write Or Publish As Much As I Do Because I Can Bear Being Without A Book To Work On. But Routinely When I Finish A Book, I Think, "what Will I Do? Where Will I Get An Idea?" And A Kind Of Low-level Panic Sets In. And Then Eventually Something Happens. I Don't Know. If I Knew How It Happened I Would Repeat The Process, But I Don't Know - Something Just Occurs To Me.