The Idea For A Novel Is Like

Time Is A Face On The Water.

I Enjoy Going Back And Forth Between Plays And Novels. It`s Like Having A Wife And A Mistress. Books Are The Wife; Plays, The Mistress.

It Was How Wars Really Ended, Dieffenbaker Supposed -- Not At Truce Tables But In Cancer Wards And Office Cafeterias And Traffic Jams. Wars Died One Tiny Piece At A Time, Each Piece Something That Fell Like A Memory, Each Lost Like An Echo That Fades In Winding Hills. In The End Even War Ran Up The White Flag. Or So He Hoped. He Hoped That In The End Even War Surrendered.

I've Put Men To Death-men With Supposedly Immortal Souls-that Looked Dumber Than That Mouse

City Life Is No Life For A Country Man; For Such A Man That Life Is A Kind Of Damnation In Itself.