The Tools Of Conquest Do Not Necessarily

Emmies, For Example, Most Of That's Bullshit. Oscars Are Even Worse. We Have A Strange, Terrible Affliction In This Town. Everybody Walks Around Bent-backed From Slapping Each Other On The Backs So Much. It Looks Like Arthritis But It Isn't. It's Hunger For Recognition. And It's Sort Of Like, Well, I'll Scratch You This Time If You'll Scratch Me Next Time. That Kind Of Thing.

I've Never Planned Ahead.i Just Sort Of Go Through Life Checking The Menu Of Three Meals That Day. I Never Worry About Tomorrow. It's Only Since I've Gotten Older That I've Begun To Wonder About Time Running Out. Is It Sufficient Unto Itself That I Don't Plan? Because Maybe Next Thursday Won't Come One Day. And Then, I'm Concerned About That. But That's Not Uniquely The Writer's Concern, That's The Concern Of Every Middle-aged Man Who Looks In The Mirror.

In Almost Everything I've Written There Is A Thread Of This: Man's Seemingly Palpable Need To Dislike Someone Other Than Himself.

This Is, If Not A Lifetime Process, It's Awfully Close To It. The Writer Broadens, Becomes Deeper, Becomes More Observant, Becomes More Tempered, Becomes Much Wiser Over A Period Time Passing. It Is Not Something That Is Injected Into Him By A Needle. It Is Not Something That Comes On A Wave Of Flashing, Explosive Light One Night And Say, 'huzzah! Eureka! I've Got It!' And Then Proceeds To Write The Great American Novel In Eleven Days. It Doesn't Work That Way. It's A Long, Tedious, Tough, Frustrating Process, But Never, Ever Be Put Aside By The Fact That It's Hard.

For Civilization To Survive, The Human Race Has To Remain Civilized.