He Must Have Killed A Lot Of

The Maturing Process Of Becoming A Writer Is Akin To That Of A Harlot. First You Do It For Love, Then For A Few Friends, And Finally Only For Money.

How Strange It Is To See With How Much Passion People See Things Only In Their Own Fashion!

There Is No Rampart That Will Hold Out Against Malice.

I Feed On Good Soup, Not Beautiful Language.

No Matter What Everybody Says, Ultimately These Things Can Harm Us Only By The Way We React To Them.