The Clown May Be The Source Of

The End Of Exile Is The End Of Being.

Among The Monsters, I Am Well Hidden; Who Looks For A Leaf In A Forest?

I Don't Really Think That Writers, Even Great Writers, Are Prophets, Or Sages, Or Messiah-like Figures; Writing Is A Lonely, Sedentary Occupation And A Touch Of Megalomania Can Be Comforting Around Five On A November Afternoon When You Haven't Seen Anybody All Day.

Art Need No Longer Be An Account Of Past Sensations.

Drosselmeier Had Unwittingly Exposed Himself To An Overdose Of Reality, And It Had Destroyed His Reason.