For An Artist To Think In Terms

Despair Is The Price One Pays For Setting Oneself An Impossible Aim. It Is, One Is Told, The Unforgivable Sin, But It Is A Sin The Corrupt Or Evil Man Never Practices. He Always Has Hope. He Never Reaches The Freezing-point Of Knowing Absolute Failure. Only The Man Of Goodwill Carries Always In His Heart This Capacity For Damnation.

Christmas It Seems To Me Is A Necessary Festival; We Require A Season When We Can Regret All The Flaws In Our Human Relationships: It Is The Feast Of Failure, Sad But Consoling.

So Much In Writing Depends On The Superficiality Of One's Days.

It Is The Storytellers Task To Elicit Sympathy And A Measure Of Understanding For Those Who Lie Outside The Boundaries Of State Approval.

I Have Never Understood Why People Who Can Swallow The Enormous Improbability Of A Personal God Boggle At A Personal Devil.