The Writer Is One Who, Emnbarking Upon

There Is No Moment That Exceeds In Beauty That Moment When One Looks At A Woman And Finds That She Is Looking At You In The Same Way That You Are Looking At Her. The Moment In Which She Bestows That Look That Says, "proceed With Your Evil Plan, Sumbitch.

Who Among Us Is Not Thinking About Divorce, Except For A Few Tiny-minded Stick-in-the-muds Who Don't Count?

Write About What You're Afraid Of.

Capitalism Places Every Man In Competition With His Fellows For A Share Of The Available Wealth. A Few People Accumulate Big Piles, But Most Do Not. The Sense Of Community Falls Victim To This Struggle.

His Examiner Said Severely: "baskerville, You Blank Round, Discursiveness Is Not Literature." "the Aim Of Literature," Baskerville Replied Grandly, "is The Creation Of A Strange Object Covered With Fur Which Breaks Your Heart."