It's So Wrong When I Pick Up

I Long For The Raised Voice, The Howl Of Rage Or Love.

Jane Austen Is At The End Of The Line That Begins With Samuel Richardson, Which Takes Wonder And Magic Out Of The Novel, Treats Not The Past But The Present.

I Admire Ginsberg As A Poet, Despite The Fact That He Seems Not To Know When He Is Being Good And When He Is Bad. But He Will Last, Or At Least Those Poems Will Last.

I Never Met Anybody In My Life Who Says, I Want To Be A Critic. People Want To Be A Fireman, Poet, Novelist.

It's So Wrong When I Pick Up A New Edition Of Huckleberry Finn And I Look At The Last Page And It Doesn't Say, Yours Truly, At The End.