Being A Child Is In Itself A

For Most Men, Life Is A Search For The Proper Manila Envelope In Which To Get Themselves Filed.

Seriously, I Do Not Know What To Say Of This Book [ Absalom, Absalom!] Except That It Seem To Point To The Final Blowup Of What Was Once A Remarkable, If Minor, Talent… This Is A Penny Dreadful Tricked Up In Fancy Language And Given A Specious Depth By The Expert Manipulation Of A Series Of Eccentric Technical Tricks. The Characters Have No Magnitude And No Meaning Because They Have No More Reality Than A Mince-pie Nightmare.

A Bottle Of Wine Begs To Be Shared; I Have Never Met A Miserly Wine Lover. The Social Emotions It Generates Are Equidistant From The Philatelist's Solitary Gloating And The Football Fan's Gregarious Hysteria.

Socrates Called Himself A Midwife Of Ideas. A Great Book Is Often Such A Midwife, Delivering To Full Existence What Has Been Coiled Like An Embryo In The Dark, Silent Depths Of The Brain.

Books Act Like A Developing Fluid On Film. That Is, They Bring Into Consciousness What You Didn’t Know You Knew.