Read Everything. If You Haven't

The Idea Of Some Kind Of Objectively Constant, Universal Literary Value Is Seductive. It Feels Real. It Feels Like A Stone Cold Fact That In Search Of Lost Time, By Marcel Proust, Is Better Than A Shore Thing, By Snooki. And It May Be; Snooki Definitely Has More One-star Reviews On Amazon. But If Literary Value Is Real, No One Seems To Be Able To Locate It Or Define It Very Well. We're Increasingly Adrift In A Grey Void Of Aesthetic Relativism.

The Process Of Learning Is A Nonstop Orgy Of Wonderment.

Though The Funny Thing About Never Being Asked For Anything Is That After A While You Start To Feel Like Maybe You Don’t Have Anything Worth Giving.

There Is Really No End To Life's Little Humiliations.

The Line Between Outside And Inside Is Fuzzier In Fantasy. Maybe That's Something People Are Looking For.