Well-timed Silence Is The Most Commanding Expression.

'freeing' A Literary Work Into The Public Domain Is Less A Public Benefit Than A Transfer Of Wealth From The Families Of American Writers To The Executives And Stockholders Of Various Businesses Who Will Continue To Profit From, For Example, 'the Garden Party,' While The Descendants Of Katherine Mansfield Will Not.

I'm Sort Of Murdered For Selling Books. The Idea Is, If You Make Money Your Work Can't Be Literary.

Give The Money Directly To People Who Work Hard. Instead Of Taking The Money From The Business And Then Filtering It Through The Horror Of Government Programs, Which Is Essentially Giving It To Social Workers Who Live In Bethesda So They Can Drive Their Minivans And Vote Democratic. Give Them The Money, So That They Go And Talk To The Worker Who Is Washing Dishes, And They Say, "well, We Want To Help You, You See." And It Would Be Better To Help Them By Taking The Money From That Minivan-driving Social Worker And Giving It Directly To The Guy Who Is Really Working Hard By Washing Dishes.

My Father Ran London Films. He Made Films Like 'the Red Shoes,' 'the Third Man.' And He Had Had A Long Career In The Film Business, Which Was Bifurcated With A Career In Intelligence. He Had To Deal With Gangsters, And Sometimes He Would Take Me With Him. Also, I Went To School With Their Children.

Perhaps Passing Through The Gates Of Death Is Like Passing Quietly Through The Gate In A Pasture Fence. On The Other Side, You Keep Walking, Without The Need To Look Back. No Shock, No Drama, Just The Lifting Of A Plank Or Two In A Simple Wooden Gate In A Clearing. Neither Pain, Nor Floods Of Light, Nor Great Voices, But Just The Silent Crossing Of A Meadow.