Use That Fluff Of Yours You Call

What An Absurdity To Go And Bury Oneself In South America, Where They Are Always Having Revolutions.

I Have Wanted . . . To Commit A Murder Myself. I Recognized This As The Desire Of The Artist To Express Himself! . . . But-incongruous As It May Seem To Some-i Was Restrained And Hampered By My Innate Sense Of Justice. The Innocent Must Not Suffer.

We Are The Same People As We Were At Three, Six, Ten Or Twenty Years Old. More Noticeably So, Perhaps, At Six Or Seven, Because We Were Not Pretending So Much Then.

The Rottenness Comes From Within.

One Little Indian Boy Left All Alone; He Went And Hanged Himself And Then There Were None.