The Trouble With Happiness Is That It

Imagine An American Hans Christian Andersen, Conceive Of The Brothers Grimm Living In Missouri, And You Will Approximate Howard Schwartz, A Fable-maker And Fable-gatherer Seduced By The Uncanny And The Unearthly. In Lilith's Cave, He Once Again Reaches Into A Magical Cornucopia Of Folklore And Fantasy And Spreads Before Us, In Enchanting Language, The Marvels And Shocks Of Dybbuks, Ghosts, Demons, Spirits, And Wizards.

Old Saws Have No Teeth.

In Saying What Is Obvious, Never Choose Cunning. Yelling Works Better.

We Are So Placid That The Smallest Tremor Of Objection To Anything At All Is Taken As A Full-scale Revolution. Should Any Soul Speak Up In Favor Of The Obvious, It Is Taken As A Symptom Of The Influence Of The Left, The Right, The Pink, The Black, The Dangerous. An Idea For Its Own Sake - Especially An Obvious Idea - Has No Respectability.

Bohemia And All Its Works Are Vanished Out Of America; Or, More Exactly, Bohemia Has Migrated To The Middle Class, And Is Alive And Well In Condo And Suburb.