You Seem To Forget, Miss Flinn, That

To Vik Lovell Who Told Me Dragons Did Not Exist, Then Led Me To Their Lairs.

I've Never Seen Crack Or A Lot Of These New Drugs. Don't Know Anything About Them. I Don't Know What They Do For You, Or Whether They Do Anything Good For You Or Not. But I Do Still Have A Lot Of Faith In The Spiritual Purity Of Lsd And Pot.

You’re Just A Young Kid. What Are You Doin’ Here? You Oughta Be Out In A Convertible, Why… Bird-doggin’ Chicks And Bangin’ Beaver. What Are Ya Doin’ Here, For Christ’s Sake? What’s Funny About That? Jesus, I Mean, You Guys Do Nothin’ But Complain About How You Can’t Stand It In This Place Here And Then You Haven’t Got The Guts Just To Walk Out!

Luckily, I Remembered Something Malcolm Cowley Had Taught Us At Stanford - Perhaps The Most Important Lesson A Writing Class (not A Writer, Understand, But A Class) Can Ever Learn. 'be Gentle With One Another's Efforts,' He Often Admonished Us. 'be Kind And Considerate With Your Criticism. Always Remember That It's Just As Hard To Write A Bad Book As It Is To Write A Good Book.'

I Listened To Them Fade Away Till All I Could Hear Was My Memory Of The Sound.