If It Can Be Written, Or Thought,

You Have Not Yet Learned That In This Life You Have To Be Like Everyone Else: The Perfect Mediocrity--no Better, No Worse. Individuality Is A Monster And It Must Be Strangled In Its Cradle To Make Our Friends Feel Comfortable.

There's Something In The Human Personality Which Resents Things That Are Clear, And Conversely, Something Which Is Attracted To Puzzles, Enigmas, And Allegories.

If Man Merely Sat Back And Thought About His Impending Termination, And His Terrifying Insignificance And Aloneness In The Cosmos, He Would Surely Go Mad, Or Succumb To A Numbing Sense Of Futility. Why, He Might Ask Himself, Should He Bother To Write A Great Symphony, Or Strive To Make A Living, Or Even To Love Another, When He Is No More Than A Momentary Microbe On A Dust Mote Whirling Through The Unimaginable Immensity Of Space?

How Does Anybody Ever Think Of Anything?

I Don't Like Doing Interviews. There Is Always The Problem Of Being Misquoted Or, What's Even Worse, Of Being Quoted Exactly.