He Moved On, In The Centre Of

I Have To Write Because If I Don't Get Something Down Then After A While I Feel It's Going To Bang The Side Of My Head Off.

There's No Such Thing As Writer's Block. That Was Invented By People In California Who Couldn't Write.

Few Things Are Hidden From A Quiet Child With Good Eyesight.

Poetic Simile Was Strictly Limited To Statements Like 'his Mighty Steed Was As Fleet As The Wind On A Fairly Calm Day, Say About Force Three,' And Any Loose Talk About A Beloved Having A Face That Launched A Thousand Ships Would Have To Be Backed By Evidence That The Object Of Desire Did Indeed Look Like A Bottle Of Champagne.

Theres No Stink More Sorrorful Than The Stink Of Wet, Burnt Paper. It Means: The End.