There's A Kinship Among Men

At The Moment Of Vision, The Eyes See Nothing.

The Mask Was A Thing On It's Own, Behind Which Jack Hid, Liberated From Shame And Self-conciousness.

Put Simply The Novel Stands Between Us And The Hardening Concept Of Statistical Man. There Is No Other Medium In Which We Can Live For So Long And So Intimately With A Character. That Is The Service A Novel Renders.

Together, Joined In Effort By The Burden, They Staggered Up The Last Steep Of The Mountain. Together, They Chanted One! Two! Three! And Crashed The Log On To The Great Pile. Then They Stepped Back, Laughing With Triumphant Pleasure.

Kill The Pig. Cut Her Throat. Spill Her Blood.