When I Write A Novel I Start

At Heart, Of Course, A Story Itself Is Consolation's Instrument.

Any Rainy Summer Morning, Of Course, Has The Seeds Of Gloomy Alienation Sown In. But A Rainy Summer Morning Far From Home - When Your Personal Clouds Don't Move But Hang - Can Easily Produce The Feeling Of The World As Seen From The Grave. This I Know.

If Trump Was Just A Piddly-ass Little Hotel Owner Some Place, Having The Kind Of Character And Manners That He Has, He Would Not Be Worth Our Notice. But Because He's Now Been Based To This Huge Stage, Then His Dimensions Become Immense. He's Not A Tragic Figure Because He Doesn't Have The Capacity To Be Tragic. But The Consequences Of His Life And His Self Now Are Immense; They're Threatening To The World And To The Sanctity Of Human Life.

I'm Kind Of A Distractible Guy.

Only Sometimes You Can't Feel Anything About A Subject Without Hypothesizing Its Extinction.