Well Chaps First I'd Like To Say

My Mother Studied English And Drama At The University Of Pennsylvania, Where My Father Studied Architecture. She Was A Great Influence In All Sorts Of Ways, A Wicked Wit.

--why Are We Fighting Them? --they're Mad. We're Sane. --how Do We Know? --that We're Sane? --yes. --am I Sane? --to All Appearances. --and You, Do You Consider Yourself Sane? --i Do. --well, There You Have It. --but Don't They Also Consider Themselves Sane? --i Think They Know. Deep Down. That They're Not Sane. --how Must That Make Them Feel? --terrible, I Should Think. They Must Fight Ever More Fiercely, In Order To Deny What They Know To Be True. That They Are Not Sane.

Maybe Writing Can't Be Taught, But Editing Can Be Taught—prayer, Fasting And Self-mutilation.

The Center Will Not Hold If It Has Been Spot-welded By An Operator Whose Deepest Concern Is Not With The Weld But With His Lottery Ticket.

Best Not To Anticipate Too Much ... It Jiggles The Possibilities.