The North-south Line Of 'the

Spells Of Acute Loneliness Are An Essential Part Of Travel. Loneliness Makes Things Happen.

Good Travel Books Are Novels At Heart.

Books Admitted Me To Their World Open-handedly, As People For Their Most Part, Did Not. The Life I Lived In Books Was One Of Ease And Freedom, Worldly Wisdom, Glitter, Dash And Style.

Insofar As I Think About Postmodernism At All, And It Doesn't Exactly Keep Me Awake At Nights, I Think Of It As Something That Happens To One, Not A Style One Affects. We're Postmoderns Because We're Not Modernists. The Modernist Writers—pound, Eliot, Joyce, Stevens, Yeats, Woolf, Williams—spoke With A Kind Of Vatic Authority: They Were Really The Last Of The Romantics, For Whom Authorship Itself Was Like Being A Solitary Prophet In The Wasteland.

To The Newcomer Who Has Not Learned Its Language, A Large City Is A Chaos Of Details, A Vast Woolworths Store Of Differently Colored, Simlarly Priced Objects.