In The Country Of The Story The

I Have Often Thought That With Any Luck At All I Could Have Been Born A Werewolf, Because The Two Middle Fingers On Both My Hands Are The Same Length, But I Have Had To Be Content With What I Had.

Fate Intervened. Some Of Us, That Day, She Led Inexorably Through The Gates Of Death. Some Of Us, Innocent And Unsuspecting, Took, Unwillingly, That One Last Step To Oblivion. Some Of Us Took Very Little Sugar.

There Had Not Been This Many Words Sounded In Our House For A Long Time, And It Was Going To Take A While To Clean Them Out.

[l]et My Reader Who Is Puzzled By My Awkward Explanations Close His Eyes For No More Than Two Minutes, And See If He Does Not Find Himself Suddenly Not A Compact Human Being At All, But Only A Consciousness On A Sea Of Sound And Touch . . .

It Is Only With The Eyes Open That A Corporeal Form Returns, And Assembles Itself Firmly Around The Hard Core Of Sight.