When I'm Not Writing Or

For A Writer Only One Form Of Patriotism Exists: His Attitude Toward Language.

Life Is A Game With Many Rules But No Referee. One Learns How To Play It More By Watching It Than By Consulting Any Book, Including The Holy Book. Small Wonder, Then, That So Many Play Dirty, That So Few Win, That So Many Lose.

This Is The Generation Whose First Cry Of Life Was The Hungarian Uprising.

The Delirium And Horror Of The East. The Dusty Catastrophe Of Asia. Green Only On The Banner Of The Prophet. Nothing Grows Here Except Mustaches.

When I'm Not Writing Or Reading, I'm Thinking About Both.