The Streets Were Dark With

The Test Of A Writer Is Whether You Want To Read Him Again Years After He Should By The Rules Be Dated.

Great Critics, Of Whom There Are Piteously Few, Build A Home For The Truth.

All Men Who Read Escape From Something Else Into What Lies Behind The Printed Page; The Quality Of The Dream May Be Argued, But Its Release Has Become A Functional Necessity.

The Plants Filled The Place, A Forest Of Them, With Nasty Meaty Leaves And Stalks Like The Newly Washed Fingers Of Dead Men.

The Actual Writing Is What You Live For. The Rest Is Something You Have To Get Through In Order To Arrive At The Point.