Nobody Hates Us As Ourselves. In Their

If I Observe My Cats Carefully, It Is Partly Because I Observe Everyone I Deal With As Carefully As I Can And Partly Because They Amuse And Entertain Me. They Are An Important Part Of The Fabric Of My Daily Life.

We're Herded Into Schools And Terrified Into Behaving. Taught How We're Supposed To Pretend To Be, Taught To Parrot All Kinds Of Nonsense At The Flick Of A Switch, Taught To Keep Our Heads Down And Our Elbows In And Shut Off Our Minds And Shut Off Our Sex. We Learn We Can't Even Piss When We Have To. That's How We Learn To Be Plastic And Dumb.

The Work Of The World Is Common As Mud. Botched, It Smears The Hands, Crumbles To Dust. But The Thing Worth Doing Well Done Has A Shape That Satisfies, Clean And Evident.

I'm Probably The Only Novelist Who Has Ever Written About Political Fugitives Who Actually Knew A Lot About Them, Had Contact With Them, And Had A Realistic Notion Of How They Survived.

Love Says, Mine. Love Says, I Could Eat You Up. Love Says, Stay As You Are, Be My Own Private Thing, Don't You Dare Have Ideas I Don't Share. Love Has Just Got To Gobble The Other, Bones And All, Crunch. I Don't Want To Do That. I Sure Don't Want It Done To Me!