You Cannot Observe People Through

What I Have In Mind When I Start To Write Could Fit Inside An Acorn-an Acorn, Moreover, That Rarely If Ever Grows Into An Oak. Write Fiction And You Relinquish Reason. You Start With An Acorn And You End Up With A Mackerel.

Turned The Wrong Way Around, The Relentless Unforeseen Was What We Schoolchildren Studied In "history", Harmless History, Where Everything Unexpected In Its Own Time Is Chronicled On The Page As Inevitable. The Terror Of The Unforeseen Is What The Science Of History Hides, Turning A Disaster Into An Epic.

It's Human To Have A Secret, But It's Just As Human To Reveal It Sooner Or Later.

Everybody Has A Hard Job. All Real Work Is Hard. My Work Happened Also To Be Undoable. Morning After Morning For 50 Years, I Faced The Next Page Defenseless And Unprepared. Writing For Me Was A Feat Of Self-preservation. If I Did Not Do It, I Would Die. So I Did It. Obstinacy, Not Talent, Saved My Life.

Never In His Life Had Occasion To Ask Himself, "why Are Things The Way They Are?" Why Should He Bother, When The Way They Were Was Always Perfect? Why Are Things The Way They Are? The Question To Which There Is No Answer, And Up Till Then He Was So Blessed He Didn't Even Know The Question Existed.