As I Made My Way Home, I

They're Ugly, But Those Are The Facts Of Life.

Jem Gave A Reasonable Description Of Boo: Boo Was About Six-and-a-half Feet Tall, Judging From His Tracks; He Dined On Raw Squirrels And Any Cats He Could Catch, That's Why His Hands Were Bloodstained - If You Ate Animal Raw, You Could Never Wash The Blood Off. There Was A Long Jagged Scar That Ran Across His Face; What Teeth He Had Were Yellow And Rotten; His Eyes Popped, And He Drooled Most Of The Time.

Hey, Mr. Cunningham. How's Your Entailment Gettin' Along?

Rest Assured, As Long As I Am Alive Any Book Purporting To Be With My Cooperation Is A Falsehood.

People Who Write For Reward By Way Of Recognition Or Monetary Gain Don't Know What They're Doing. They're In The Category Of Those Who Write; They Are Not Writers. Writing Is Simply Something You Must Do. It's Rather Like Virtue In That It Is Its Own Reward. Writing Is Selfish And Contradictory In Its Terms. First Of All, You're Writing For An Audience Of One, You Must Please The One Person You're Writing For. Yourself.