Next Week, Or Next Month, Or Next

You Imagine The Carefully Pruned, Shaped Thing That Is Presented To You Is Truth. That Is Just What It Isn't. The Truth Is Improbable, The Truth Is Fantastic; It's In What You Think Is A Distorting Mirror That You See The Truth.

All Of A Writer That Matters Is In The Book Or Books. It Is Idiotic To Be Curious About The Person.

Quite Like Old Times,' The Room Says.

I Want More Of This Feeling - Fire And Wings.

One Realized All Sorts Of Things. The Value Of An Illusion, For Instance, And That The Shadow Can Be More Important Than The Substance. All Sorts Of Things.