World War Ii Is The War That

Marxists Are People Whose Insides Are Torn Up Day After Day Because They Want To Rule The World And No One Will Even Publish Their Letter To The Editor.

What I Really Like To Do Is To Sit Quietly And Write. All That Other Stuff Is A Problem. Publication To Reception To Negotiation To... Everything, It's A Problem. And I Like To Sit Outside For Long Periods Of Time And Just Be In The Tranquility Of Nature. That's What I Like.

I Have To Confess That I Have So Rarely Experienced Triumph That I Cannot Claim To Know It Well Enough To Judge, But It Seems To Be At Best A Momentary Joy Followed Instantly By Sadness, And, Then, Of Necessity, By Wariness.

Well-timed Silence Is The Most Commanding Expression.

The Shelf Was Filled With Books That Were Hard To Read, That Could Devastate And Remake One's Soul, And That, When They Were Finished, Had A Kick Like A Mule.