I Don't Know How One Should Live

Only Meaning Can Make A Difference And We All Know There's No Meaning. All Stories Express A Desire For Meaning, Not Meaning Itself. Therefore Any Difference Knowing The Story Makes Is A Delusion.

One Day The Ordinariness Will Be Terminally Punctuated By The Extraordinary Full Stop Of Death.

Every Now And Then Life Sold You An Illusion Of Design. A Coincidence, A Parallel, A Sledgehammer Symbol. The Goods Were Always Faulty. You Forked Over The Cash Only To Discover They'd Fallen Apart By The Time You Got Home. But Life Kept At It. Life Couldn't Help It. Life Was A Compulsive Salesman.

I'm With Milton And The Rolling Stones: I Don't Find The Devil An Unsympathetic Character. But In Any Case, My Fiction Is Populated As Much By People Who Do Good As It Is By Those Who Do Bad. I'm Interested In Imaginatively Accommodating As Much Of The Human As Possible, For Which You Need Both Moral Extremes And Everything In Between.

Kneecaps Only Exist To Get Hit With Claw-hammers; Grace Only Exists To Be Fallen From.