One Would Think A Writer Would Be

The Growth Of Populations Has In No Way Increased The Amount [of Art], It Has Merely Increased The Adeptness With Which Substitutes Can Be Produced And Packaged.

The Private Detective Of Fiction Is A Fantastic Creation Who Acts And Speaks Like A Real Man. He Can Be Completely Realistic In Every Sense But One, That One Sense Being That In Life As We Know It Such A Man Would Not Be A Private Detective.

When I Left Merle Was Wearing A Bungalow Apron And Rolling Pie Crust. She Came To The Door Wiping Her Hands On The Apron And Kissed Me On The Mouth And Began To Cry And Ran Back Into The House, Leaving The Doorway Empty [...] I Had A Funny Feeling As I Saw The House Disappear, As Though I Had Written A Poem And It Was Very Good And I Had Lost It And Would Never Remember It Again. (p. 262)

Police Business Is A Hell Of A Problem. It's A Good Deal Like Politics. It Asks For The Highest Type Of Men, And There's Nothing In It To Attract The Highest Type Of Men.

What Greater Prestige Can A Man Like Me (not Too Gifted, But Very Understanding) Have Than To Have Taken A Cheap, Shoddy And Utterly Lost Kind Of Writing, And Have Made Of It Something That Intellectuals Claw Each Other About?