Rushdie Is A Hostage.

I Slept For Four Years. I Didn't Study Much Of Anything. I Majored In Something Called Communication Arts.

Stories Are Consoling, Fiction Is One Of The Consolation Prizes For Having Lived In The World.

One Of My Earliest Memories As A Reader - I Don't Know How Old I Was, Quite Young - Was A Poem Of His, Called "fog," And I Remember The First Verse, "the Fog Comes / On Little Cat Feet".

The Less Important You Are In An Office, The More They Expect The Happy Smile.

Man's Guilt In History And In The Tides Of His Own Blood Has Been Complicated By Technology, The Daily Seeping Falsehearted Death.