How Rarely Can Happiness Be

I Think The Novel Is Essentially A Comic Form (tragedy Is For The Theatre), Not Meaning By That Full Of Jokes, But That It Is About The Absurd Detail Of Human Life, The Way In Which One Cannot Fully Understand What Is Happening. Life Is Muddle And Jumble And Ends Inconclusively, And When This Is Presented With Great Comic Art The Sorrows Of Human Life Can Be Truthfully Conveyed; One Is Moved By The Spectacle, And Feels That Something Truthful Has Been Told In A Magic Way.

Starting A Novel Is Opening A Door On A Misty Landscape; You Can Still See Very Little But You Can Smell The Earth And Feel The Wind Blowing.

All Art Deals With The Absurd And Aims At The Simple. Good Art Speaks Truth, Indeed Is Truth, Perhaps The Only Truth.

Jealousy Is The Most Dreadfully Involuntary Of All Sins.

There Is Nothing Like Early Promiscuous Sex For Dispelling Life's Bright Mysterious Expectations.