Death Persecutes Before It Executes.

Travelers Are Fantasists, Conjurers, Seers - And What They Finally Discover Is That Every Round Object Everywhere Is A Crystal Ball: Stone, Teapot, The Marvelous Globe Of The Human Eye.

Imagine An American Hans Christian Andersen, Conceive Of The Brothers Grimm Living In Missouri, And You Will Approximate Howard Schwartz, A Fable-maker And Fable-gatherer Seduced By The Uncanny And The Unearthly. In Lilith's Cave, He Once Again Reaches Into A Magical Cornucopia Of Folklore And Fantasy And Spreads Before Us, In Enchanting Language, The Marvels And Shocks Of Dybbuks, Ghosts, Demons, Spirits, And Wizards.

We Were Born To Die; We Were Born To Endure, On The Way To Death, Sorrow-sorrow In Manifold Shapes.

There's A Paradox In Rereading. You Read The First Time For Rediscovery: An Encounter With The Confirming Emotions. But You Reread For Discovery: You Go To The Known To Figure Out The Workings Of The Unknown, The Why Of The Familiar How.

I Was So Mad At My Agent. I Had Polished And Polished And Polished [the Play], And He Referred To It As A Draft. I Wrote Him A Bitter Letter: How Can You Call This A Draft? I Don't Do Drafts! By Now I've Done 18, And Its Turning, In The Rehearsal Room, Into A 19th.