There Had Not Been This Many Words

God! Whose Hand Was I Holding?

It Has Long Been My Belief That In Times Of Great Stress, Such As A 4-day Vacation, The Thin Veneer Of Family Wears Off Almost At Once, And We Are Revealed In Our True Personalities.

We Eat The Year Away. We Eat The Spring And The Summer And The Fall. We Wait For Something To Grow And Then We Eat It.

I Cannot Find Any Patience For Those People Who Believe That You Start Writing When You Sit Down At Your Desk And Pick Up Your Pen And Finish Writing When You Put Down Your Pen Again; A Writer Is Always Writing, Seeing Everything Through A Thin Mist Of Words, Fitting Swift Little Descriptions To Everything He Sees, Always Noticing. Just As I Believe That A Painter Cannot Sit Down To His Morning Coffee Without Noticing What Color It Is, So A Writer Cannot See An Odd Little Gesture Without Putting A Verbal Description To It, And Ought Never To Let A Moment Go By Undescribed.

I Came To Believe That Being A Private Detective Was The Work I Was Meant To Do.