Self-love Is An Idolatry. Self-hatred Is A

Biographers, The Quick In Pursuit Of The Dead, Research, Organize, Fill In, Contradict, And Make In This Way A Sort Of Completed Picture Puzzle With All The Scramble Turned Into A Blue Eye And The Parts Of The Right Leg Fitted Together.

It's One Of The Things Writing Students Don't Understand. They Write A First Draft And Are Quite Disappointed, Or Often Should Be Disappointed. They Don't Understand That They Have Merely Begun, And That They May Be Merely Beginning Even In The Second Or Third Draft.

Sex, Without Society As Its Landscape, Has Never Been Of Much Interest To Fiction.

Self-love Is An Idolatry. Self-hatred Is A Tragedy.

The Fifties - They Seem To Have Taken Place On A Sunny Afternoon That Asked Nothing Of You Except A Drifting Belief In The Moment And Its Power To Satisfy.