Perhaps To Lose A Sense Of Where

The Blues Is An Art Of Ambiguity, An Assertion Of The Irrepressibly Human Over All Circumstances, Whether Created By Others Or By One's Own Human Failing.

I Am An Invisible Man. I Am A Man Of Substance, Of Flesh And Bone, Fiber And Liquids - And I Might Even Be Said To Possess A Mind. I Am Invisible, Understand, Simply Because People Refuse To See Me.

There Must Be Possible A Fiction Which, Leaving Sociology And Case Histories To The Scientists, Can Arrive At The Truth About The Human Condition, Here And Now, With All The Bright Magic Of The Fairy Tale.

I Was Never More Hated Than When I Tried To Be Honest. Or When, Even As Just Now I've Tried To Articulate Exactly What I Felt To Be The Truth. No One Was Satisfied

Every Serious Novel Is, Beyond Its Immediate Thematic Preoccupations, A Discussion Of The Craft, A Conquest Of The Form, A Conflict With Its Difficulties And A Pursuit Of Its Felicities And Beauty.