The Road To Hell Is Paved With

I Think I Write Or Publish As Much As I Do Because I Can Bear Being Without A Book To Work On.

What I Would Really Love To Happen To Me Would Be If I Came Upon An Idea That Would Keep Me Busy Until I Die So I Wouldn't Have To Go Through The Business Of Thinking Up A New Book. But I Wouldn't Mind Writing A Long Book Which Is Going To Occupy Me For The Rest Of My Life.

I Do Not Say Correct Or Savory. I Do Not Say Seemly Or Even Natural. I Say Serious. Sensationally Serious. Unspeakably Serious. Solemnly, Recklessly, Blissfully Serious.

I Would Be Wonderful With A 100-year Moratorium On Literature Talk, If You Shut Down All Literature Departments, Close The Book Reviews, Ban The Critics. The Readers Should Be Alone With The Books, And If Anyone Dared To Say Anything About Them, They Would Be Shot Or Imprisoned Right On The Spot. Yes, Shot. A 100-year Moratorium On Insufferable Literary Talk. You Should Let People Fight With The Books On Their Own And Rediscover What They Are And What They Are Not. Anything Other Than This Talk.

Turned The Wrong Way Around, The Relentless Unforeseen Was What We Schoolchildren Studied In "history", Harmless History, Where Everything Unexpected In Its Own Time Is Chronicled On The Page As Inevitable. The Terror Of The Unforeseen Is What The Science Of History Hides, Turning A Disaster Into An Epic.