Write. Don't Think. Relax.

You Don't Have To Burn Books To Destroy A Culture. Just Get People To Stop Reading Them.

Miraculously, Smoke Curled Out Of His Own Mouth, His Nose, His Ears, His Eyes, As If His Soul Had Been Extinguished Within His Lungs At The Very Moment The Sweet Pumpkin Gave Up Its Incensed Ghost.

Long Before You Knew What Death Was You Were Wishing It On Someone Else.

Books Are Flesh-and-blood Ideas And Cry Out, Silently, When Put To The Torch.

It Was A Pleasure To Burn.