The Transaction Will Enable Us To Become

I Particularly Scorn My Fondness For Paradox. I Despise Pessimism, Narcissism, Solipsism, Truculence, Word-play, And Pusillanimity, My Chiefer Inclinations; Loathe Self-loathers Ergo Me; Have No Pity For Self-pity And So Am Free Of That Sweet Baseness. I Doubt I Am. Being Me’s No Joke.

Is Man A Savage At Heart, Skinned O'er With Fragile Manners? Or Is Savagery But A Faint Taint In The Natural Man's Gentility, Which Erupts Now And Again Like Pimples On An Angel's Arse?

A Curious Thing About Written Literature: It Is About Four Thousand Years Old, But We Have No Way Of Knowing Whether Four Thousand Years Constitutes Senility Or The Maiden Blush Of Youth.

Those Rituals Of Getting Ready To Write Produce A Kind Of Trance State.

I Don't See How Anybody Starts A Novel Without Knowing How It's Going To End. I Usually Make Detailed Outlines: How Many Chapters It Will Be And So Forth.