It Was Autumn, The Springtime Of Death.

At Birth, We Emerge From Dream Soup. At Death, We Sink Back Into Dream Soup. In Between Soups, There Is A Crossing Of Dry Land. Life Is A Portage.

Genius May Stand On The Shoulders Of Giants, But It Stands Alone.

The Pervasive Brutality In Current Fiction - The Death, Disease, Dysfunction, Depression, Dismemberment, Drug Addiction, Dementia, And Dreary Little Dramas Of Domestic Discord - Is An Obvious Example Of How Language In Exploitative, Cynical Or Simply Neurotic Hands Can Add To The Weariness, The Darkness In The World.

The Trick Is This: Keep Your Eye On The Ball. Even When You Can't See The Ball.

All Dreams Continue In The Beyond.