Now And Then I Become Conscious Of

With Some Exceptions In Science Fiction And Other Genres I Have Small Difficulty In Avoiding Anything That Could Be Called American Literature. I Feel It Is Unnatural, Not I Think Entirely Because It Uses A Language That Is Not Mine, However Closely Akin To My Own.

When That Ineffable Compound Of Depression, Sadness (these Two Are Not The Same), Anxiety, Self-hatred, Sense Of Failure And Fear For The Future Begins To Steal Over You, Start Telling Yourself That What You Have Is A Hangover. You Are Not Sickening For Anything, You Have Not Suffered A Minor Brain Lesion, You Are Not All That Bad At Your Job, Your Family And Friends Are Not Leagued In A Conspiracy Of Barely Maintained Silence About What A S**t You Are, You Have Not Come At Last To See Life As It Really Is And There Is No Use Crying Over Spilt Milk.

Being American Is, I Think, A Very Difficult Thing In Art, Because All The Elements Are European.

He Who Truly Believes He Has A Hangover Has No Hangover.

Sex Stops When You Pull Up Your Pants, Love Never Lets You Go.