I Am Corrupted To The

Sleep Is No Longer A Healing Bath, A Recuperation Of Vital Forces, But An Oblivion, A Nightly Brush With Annihilation.

Censorship Is Not An Occupation That Attracts Intelligent, Subtle Minds. Censors Can And Often Have Been Outwitted. But The Game Of Slipping Aesopian Messages Past The Censor Is Ultimately A Sterile One, Diverting Writers From Their Proper Task.

In A World Of Chance Is There A Better And A Worse? We Yield To A Stranger's Embrace Or Give Ourselves To The Waves; For The Blink Of An Eyelid Our Vigilance Relaxes; We Are Asleep; And When We Awake, We Have Lost The Direction Of Our Lives. What Are These Blinks Of An Eyelid, Against Which The Only Defence Is An Eternal And Inhuman Wakefulness? Might They Not Be The Cracks And Chinks Through Which Another Voice, Other Voices, Speak In Our Lives? By What Right Do We Close Our Ears To Them? (susan Barton)

His Mind Has Become A Refuge For Old Thoughts, Idle, Indigent, With Nowhere Else To Go. He Ought To Chase Them Out, Sweep The Premises Clean. But He Does Not Care To Do So, Or Does Not Care Enough"(72).

Just As We Bemoan The Passing Away Of The Great Novel, A Great Novelist Is Likely To Emerge, Perhaps Even From Denmark Or Switzerland, To Prove Us Wrong.