She Was Beautiful, But She

Poetic Simile Was Strictly Limited To Statements Like 'his Mighty Steed Was As Fleet As The Wind On A Fairly Calm Day, Say About Force Three,' And Any Loose Talk About A Beloved Having A Face That Launched A Thousand Ships Would Have To Be Backed By Evidence That The Object Of Desire Did Indeed Look Like A Bottle Of Champagne.

I Don’t See Why It Matters What Is Written. Not When It’s About People. It Can Always Be Crossed Out.

When People Say "how Do You Write A Book, How Does It All Happen?" I Say, You Line Things Up, And You Line Them Up As Actually As You Possibly Can, But Sooner Or Later The Book Has Got Momentum And It's Moving Along Under That Momentum. It's Like A Sculpture, If You're Working With The Grain Of The Wood, The Wood Will Start Defining What Shape It's Going To Become.

Freedom Without Limits Is Just A Word.

The Disc, Being Flat, Has No Real Horizon. Any Adventurous Sailor Who Got Funny Ideas From Staring At Eggs And Oranges For Too Long And Set Out For The Antipodes Soon Learned That The Reason Why Distant Ships Sometimes Looked As Though They Were Disappearing Over The Edge Of The World Was That They Were Disappearing Over The Edge Of The World.