The Act Of Writing Requires A Constant

The World Is Just As Concrete, Ornery, Vile, And Sublimely Wonderful As Before, Only Now I Better Understand My Relation To It And It To Me.

I Was Looking For Myself And Asking Everyone Except Myself Questions Which I, And Only I, Could Answer.

The Antidote To Hubris, To Overweening Pride, Is Irony, That Capacity To Discover And Systematize Ideas.

I Am An Invisible Man. No, I Am Not A Spook Like Those Who Haunted Edgar Allan Poe; Nor Am I One Of Your Hollywood-movie Ectoplasms.

Had The Price Of Looking Been Blindness, I Would Have Looked.