The Barbarians Come Out At Night.

Unimaginable Perhaps; But The Unimaginable Is There To Be Imagined.

His Mouth Opens. From Inside Him Comes A Slow Stream, Without Breath, Without Interruption. It Flows Up Through His Body And Out Upon Me; It Passes Through The Cabin, Through The Wreck; Washing The Cliffs And Shores Of The Island, It Runs Northward And Southward To The Ends Of The Earth. Soft And Cold, Dark And Unending, It Beats Against My Eyelids, Against The Skin Of My Face.

No, Paul, I Couldn't Care Less If You Tell Me Made-up Stories. Our Lies Reveal As Much About Us As Our Truths.' (said To Paul By Elizabeth Costello, The Interloping Novelist-angel-inner Voice).

If There Were A Better, Clearer, Shorter Way Of Saying What The Fiction Says, Then Why Not Scrap The Fiction?

She Gives Him What He Can Only Call A Sweet Smile. 'so You Are Determined To Go On Being Bad. Mad, Bad, And Dangerous To Know. I Promise, No One Will Ask You To Change.