The Square Root Of I Is I.

The Writer's Job Is To Get The Main Character Up A Tree, And Then Once They Are Up There, Throw Rocks At Them.

Memory Overshadows The Present And Dims The Future "into Something Thicker Than Its Usual Pea Soup."

Do Those Clowns Really Believe What They Teach?

All My Stories Are Webs Of Style And None Seems At First Blush To Contain Much Kinetic Matter.

For I Do Not Exist: There Exist But The Thousands Of Mirrors That Reflect Me. With Every Acquaintance I Make, The Population Of Phantoms Resembling Me Increases. Somewhere They Live, Somewhere They Multiply. I Alone Do Not Exist.