I Have Never Been Able

One Of The Convenient Things About Literature Is That, Despite Copyrights [...] A Book Belongs To The Reader As Well As To The Writer.

Something Amazing Happens When The Rest Of The World Is Sleeping. I Am Glued To My Chair. I Forget That I Ever Wanted To Do Anything But Write. The Crowded City, The Crowded Apartment, And The Crowded Calendar Suddenly Seem Spacious. Three Or Four Hours Pass In A Moment; I Have No Idea What Time It Is, Because I Never Check The Clock. If I Chose To Listen, I Could Hear The Swish Of Taxis Bound For Downtown Bars Or The Soft Saxophone Riffs That Drift From A Neighbor's Window, But Nothing Gets Through. I Am Suspended In A Sensory Deprivation Tank, And The Very Lack Of Sensation Is Delicious.

If You Truly Love A Book, You Should Sleep With It, Write In It, Read Aloud From It, And Fill Its Pages With Muffin Crumbs.

Pen-bereavement Is A Serious Matter.

The Action Most Worth Watching Is Not At The Center Of Things, But Where Edges Meet.