The World Is A Possibility If Only

We Look Too Much To Museums. The Sun Coming Up In The Morning Is Enough.

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

I Suspect That All The Agony That Goes Into Writing Is Borne Precisely Because The Writer Longs For Acceptance-but It Must Be Acceptance On His Own Terms.

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

There Must Be Possible A Fiction Which, Leaving Sociology And Case Histories To The Scientists, Can Arrive At The Truth About The Human Condition, Here And Now, With All The Bright Magic Of The Fairy Tale.