Who Among Us Is Not Thinking About

The Aim Of Literature ... Is The Creation Of A Strange Object Covered With Fur Which Breaks Your Heart.

He Is Mad About Being Small When You Were Big, But No, That's Not It, He Is Mad About Being Helpless When You Were Powerful, But No, Not That Either, He Is Mad About Being Contingent When You Were Necessary, Not Quite It... He Is Insane Because When He Loved You, You Didn't Notice.

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."

Maybe Writing Can't Be Taught, But Editing Can Be Taught—prayer, Fasting And Self-mutilation.

I Don’t Think You Can Talk About Progress In Art—movement, But Not Progress.