It Sounds So Far Away And Different.

I Sometimes Wonder ... If The Land Is Not Destroying The People Who Inhabit It As The People Who Inhabit It Are Destroying The Land. A Magic Continent, A Peculiar Treasure, Stuffed With Riches, Millions In It Are Starving In The Midst Of Plenty.

Being An Old Maid Is Like Death By Drowning, A Really Delightful Sensation After You Cease To Struggle.

In New York The Sky Is Bluer, And The Grass Is Greener, And The Girls Are Prettier, And The Steaks Are Thicker, And The Buildings Are Higher, And The Streets Are Wider, And The Air Is Finer, Than The Sky, Or The Grass, Or The Girls, Or The Steaks, Or The Air Of Any Place Else In The World.

But Almost Any Place Is Baghdad If You Don't Know What Will Happen In It.

It's Difficult To Write A Really Good Short Story Because It Must Be A Complete And Finished Reflection Of Life With Only A Few Words To Use As Tools. There Isn't Time For Bad Writing In A Short Story.