I Wanted To Give Readers

Undressing Her Was An Act Of Recklessness, A Kind Of Vandalism, Like Releasing A Zoo Full Of Animals, Or Blowing Up A Dam.

In Later Years, Holding Forth To An Interviewer Or To An Audience Of Aging Fans At A Comic Book Convention, Sam Clay Liked To Declare, Apropos Of His And Joe Kavalier's Greatest Creation, That Back When He Was A Boy, Sealed And Hog-tied Inside The Airtight Vessel Known As Brooklyn, New York, He Had Been Haunted By Dreams Of Harry Houdini.

When I Remember That Dizzy Summer, That Dull, Stupid, Lovely, Dire Summer, It Seems That In Those Days I Ate My Lunches, Smelled Another's Skin, Noticed A Shade Of Yellow, Even Simply Sat, With Greater Lust And Hopefulness - And That I Lusted With Greater Faith, Hoped With Greater Abandon. The People I Loved Were Celebrities, Surrounded By Rumor And Fanfare; The Places I Sat With Them, Movie Lots And Monuments. No Doubt All Of This Is Not True Remembrance But The Ruinous Work Of Nostalgia, Which Obliterates The Past, And No Doubt, As Usual, I Have Exaggerated Everything.

Man Makes Plans . . . And God Laughs.

When I'm Writing Solitude Feels Very Good. But When I'm Not Writing It Feels Lonely... Having A Big Family Solves That Problem.