Somehow, Some Way, Incredibly Enough, Good Writing

Just Drawing Back And Drawing In; Becoming Narcissistic.

In Eleven Or Twelve Years Of Writing, Mike, I Can Lay Claim To At Least This: I Have Never Written Beneath Myself. I Have Never Written Anything That I Didn't Want My Name Attached To. I Have Probed Deeper In Some Scripts And I've Been More Successful In Some Than Others. But All Of Them That Have Been On, You Know, I'll Take My Lick. They're Mine And That's The Way I Wanted Them.

In Almost Everything I've Written There Is A Thread Of This: Man's Seemingly Palpable Need To Dislike Someone Other Than Himself.

(on Being Born On Christmas Day, 1924) I Was A Christmas Present That Was Delivered Unwrapped.

You See. No Shock. No Engulfment. No Tearing Assunder. What You Feared Would Come Like An Explosion Is Like A Whisper. What You Thought Was The End Is The Beginning.