Manuscripts Don't Burn.

This Twenty-year-old Boy Was Distinguished From Childhood By Strange Qualities, A Dreamer And An Eccentric. A Girl Fell In Love With Him, And He Went And Sold Her To A Brothel.

Punch A Man On The Nose, Kick An Old Man Downstairs, Shoot Somebody Or Any Old Thing Like That, That’s My Job. But Argue With Women In Love—no Thank You!

In Order To Be In Control, You Have To Have A Definite Plan For At Least A Reasonable Period Of Time. So How, May I Ask, Can Man Be In Control If He Can't Even Draw Up A Plan For A Ridiculously Short Period Of Time, Say, A Thousand Years, And Is, Moreover, Unable To Ensure His Own Safety For Even The Next Day?

My Writing Is Progressing Slowly, But At Least It's Moving Forward. I'm Sure That's The Case. The Only Problem Is That I'm Never Absolutely Certain That What I've Written Is Any Good.

Remove The Document—and You Remove The Man.