One Could Do With A Longer Year

The Manuscript May Go Forth From The Writer To Return With A Faithfulness Passing The Faithfulness Of The Boomerang Or The Homing Pigeon.

One Day I Shall Write A Little Book Of Conduct Myself, And I Shall Call It Social Problems Of The Unsociable. And The Root Problem, Beneath A Hundred Varying Manifestions, Is How To Escape. How To Escape, That Is, At Those Times, Be They Few Or Frequent, When You Want To Keep Yourself To Yourself.

It Was A Book To Kill Time For Those Who Liked It Better Dead.

The Very Utterness Of The Crash And Ruin, The Desperation Of The Case, Might Be Its Hope. On Ruins One Can Begin To Build. Anyhow, Looking Out From Ruins One Clearly Sees; There Are No Obstructing Walls.

Nearly All Novels Are Too Long.