Great Literature Cannot Grow From A Neglected

Time Didn't Heal, But It Anesthetized. The Human Mind Could Only Feel So Much.

It Was Reasonable To Struggle, To Suffer, Perhaps Even To Die, For A More Just, A More Compassionate Society, But Not In A World With No Future Where, All To Soon, The Very Words "justice," "compassion," "society," "struggle," "evil," Would Be Unheard Echoes On An Empty Air.

In 1930s Mysteries, All Sorts Of Motives Were Credible Which Aren't Credible Today, Especially Motives Of Preventing Guilty Sexual Secrets From Coming Out. Nowadays, People Sell Their Guilty Sexual Secrets.

I Am Fifty Years Old And I Have Never Known What It Is To Love. I Can Write Those Words, Know Them To Be True, But Feel Only The Regret That A Tone-deaf Man Must Feel Because He Can't Appreicate Music, A Regret Less Keen Because It Is For Something Never Known, Not For Something Lost.

I Love The Idea Of Bringing Order Out Of Disorder Which Is What The Mystery Is About. I Like The Way In Which It Affirms The Sanity Of Human Life And Exorcises Irrational Guilts.