And Finally I Put Down

He Was Dead. However, His Nose Throbbed Painfully, Which He Thought Odd In The Circumstances.

If She Was Broken, She Would Slash Him With Her Jagged Edges, Reckless As A Drunkard With A Shattered Bottle.

Torn Between The Impulse To Stroke His Head, And The Urge To Cave It In With A Rock, I Did Neither.

Any Piece Of Good Music Is In Essence A Love Song.

I Have No Objection To Well-written Romance, But I'd Read Enough Of It To Know That That's Not What I Had Written. I Also Knew That If It Was Sold As Romance I'd Never Be Reviewed By The 'new York Times' Or Any Other Literarily Respectable Newspaper - Which Is Basically True, Although The 'washington Post' Did Get Round To Me Eventually.