I Was No Good At Being A

The Individual Appears For An Instant, Joins The Community Of Thought, Modifies It And Dies; But The Species, That Dies Not, Reaps The Fruit Of His Ephemeral Existence.

Do I Do As False Prophets Do And Puff Air Into Simulacra? Am I A Sorcerer--like Macbeth's Witches--mixing Truth And Lies In Incandescent Shapes? Or Am I A Kind Of Very Minor Scribe Of A Prophetic Book--telling Such Truth As In Me Lies, With Aid Of Such Fiction As I Acknowledge Mine, As Prospero Acknowledged Caliban.

I Don't Only Write About English Literature; I Also Write About Chaos Theory And... Ants. I Can Understand Ants.

I Don't Like Gurus. I Don't Like People Who Ask You To Follow Or Believe. I Like People Who Ask You To Think Independently.

I Don't See Much Point In Doing Things For A Pure Joke. Every Now And Then You Need A Joke, But Not So Much As The People Who Spend All Their Lives Constructing Joke Palaces Think You Do.