Some Days I Feel Like

She Was The Music Heard Faintly On The Edge Of Sound.

The Growth Of Populations Has In No Way Increased The Amount [of Art], It Has Merely Increased The Adeptness With Which Substitutes Can Be Produced And Packaged.

Dead Men Are Heavier Than Broken Hearts.

Writers Who Get Written About Become Self-conscious. They Develop A Regrettable Habit Of Looking At Themselves Through The Eyes Of Other People. They Are No Longer Alone, They Have An Investment In Critical Praise, And They Think They Must Protect It. This Leads To A Diffusion Of Effort. The Writer Watches Himself As He Works. He Grows More Subtle And He Pays For It By Loss Of Organic Dash.

Some Are Able And Humane Men And Some Are Low-grade Individuals With The Morals Of A Goat, The Artistic Integrity Of A Slot Machine, And The Manners Of A Floorwalker With Delusions Of Grandeur.