The Tiny Madman In His

All My Stories Are Webs Of Style And None Seems At First Blush To Contain Much Kinetic Matter.

Genius Is An African Who Dreams Up Snow.

I Have Often Noticed That After I Had Bestowed On The Characters Of My Novels Some Treasured Item Of My Past, It Would Pine Away In The Artificial World Where I Had So Abruptly Placed It.

Readers Are Not Sheep, And Not Every Pen Tempts Them.

There Was A Time In My Demented Youth When Somehow I Suspected That The Truth About Survival After Death Was Known To Every Human Being: I Alone Knew Nothing, And A Great Conspiracy Of Books And People Hid The Truth From Me.