That Is The Dream Of All Novelists-that

Words Are Like That, They Deceive, They Pile Up, It Seems They Do Not Know Where To Go, And, Suddenly, Because Of Two Or Three Or Four That Suddenly Come Out, Simple In Themselves, A Personal Pronoun, An Adverb, An Adjective, We Have The Excitement Of Seeing Them Coming Irresistibly To The Surface Through The Skin And The Eyes And Upsetting The Composure Of Our Feelings, Sometimes The Nerves That Can Not Bear It Any Longer, They Put Up With A Great Deal, They Put Up With Everything, It Was As If They Were Wearing Armor, We Might Say.

...this Is The Way Fate Usually Treats Us, It's Right There Behind Us, It Has Already Reached Out A Hand To Touch Us On The Shoulder While We're Still Muttering To Ourselves, It's All Over, That's It, Who Cares Anyhow.

In Effect I Am Not A Novelist, But Rather A Failed Essayist Who Started To Write Novels Because He Didn't Know How To Write Essays.

The World Is Governed By Institutions That Are Not Democratic - The World Bank, The Imf, The Wto.

Blindness Is A Private Matter Between A Person And The Eyes With Which He Or She Was Born.