How Wicked, My Brothers, Innocent Milk Must

To Devastate Is Easier And More Spectacular Than To Create.

A Perverse Nature Can Be Stimulated By Anything. Any Book Can Be Used As A Pornographic Instrument, Even A Great Work Of Literature If The Mind That So Uses It Is Off-balance. I Once Found A Small Boy Masturbating In The Presence Of The Victorian Steel-engraving In A Family Bible.

The Adult Relation To Books Is One Of Absorbing Rather Than Being Absorbed.

It Seems Priggish Or Pollyannaish To Deny That My Intention In Writing The Work Was To Titillate The Nastier Propensities Of My Readers. My Own Healthy Inheritance Of Original Sin Comes Out In The Book And I Enjoyed Raping And Ripping By Proxy. It Is The Novelist’s Innate Cowardice That Makes Him Depute To Imaginary Personalities The Sins That He Is Too Cautious To Commit For Himself.

But Where I Itty Now, O My Brothers, Is All On My Oddy Knocky, Where You Cannot Go. Tomorrow Is All Like Sweet Flowers And The Turning Vonny Earth And The Stars And The Old Luna Up There. ... And All That Cal.