The Desert Is An Ocean In Which

They Taught Me That No Man Could Be Their Leader Except He Ate The Ranks' Food, Wore Their Clothes, Lived Level With Them, And Yet Appeared Better In Himself.

To Make War Upon Rebellion Is Messy And Slow, Like Eating Soup With A Knife.

Some Of The Evil Of My Tale May Have Been Inherent In Our Circumstances. For Years We Lived Anyhow With One Another In The Naked Desert, Under The Indifferent Heaven.

Misery, Anger, Indignation, Discomfort-those Conditions Produce Literature. Contentment-never. So There You Are.

Isn't It True That The Fault Of Birth Rests Somewhat On The Child? I Believe It's We Who Led Our Parents On To Bear Us, And It's Our Unborn Children Who Make Our Flesh Itch.