Canadians, Do Not Vomit On Me!

The Private And Serious Drama Of Guilt Is Not Often A Useful One For Fiction Today And Its Disappearance, Following Perhaps The Disappearance From Life, Appears As A Natural, Almost Unnoticed Relief, Like Some Of The Challenging Illnesses Wiped Out By Drug And Vaccines.

How Certain Human Beings Are Able To Create Works Of Art Is A Mystery, And Why They Should Wish To Do So, At A Great Cost To Themselves Usually, Is Another Mystery. Works Are Not Created By One's Life; Every Life Is Rich In Material.

They Had Created Themselves Together, And They Always Saw Themselves, Their Youth, Their Love, Their Lost Youth And Lost Love, Their Failures And Memories, As A Sort Of Living Fiction.

Books Give Not Wisdom Where None Was Before. But Where Some Is, There Reading Makes It More.

Biographers, The Quick In Pursuit Of The Dead, Research, Organize, Fill In, Contradict, And Make In This Way A Sort Of Completed Picture Puzzle With All The Scramble Turned Into A Blue Eye And The Parts Of The Right Leg Fitted Together.