There Is No Excuse For Bad Manners,

All Literature Consists Of Whatever The Writer Thinks Is Cool. The Reader Will Like The Book To The Degree That He Agrees With The Writer About What's Cool.

A Stupid Person Can Make Only Certain, Limited Types Of Errors; The Mistakes Open To A Clever Fellow Are Far Broader. But To The One Who Knows How Smart He Is Compared To Everyone Else, The Possibilities For True Idiocy Are Boundless.

In Our Memories, There Is A Graveyard Where We Bury Our Dead. They All Lie There Together, The Loved Ones And The Ones We Hated, Friends And Foes And Kin, With No Distinction Among Them. We Have To Mourn Every One Of Them, Because Our Memories Have Made Them As Much A Part Of Us As Our Bones Or Our Skin. If We Don't, We've No Right To Remember Anything At All.

Absolute Truisms Rot Brains Absolutely.[...]'power Corrupts' Is Useless As A Tool For Understanding The Past, And Gives Us Nothing As A Guide To Action.

The Novel Should Be Understood As A Structure Built To Accommodate The Greatest Possible Amount Of Cool Stuff.