The Art Of The Critic In A

Experience Has Taught Me That The Shallowest Of Communist Platitudes Contains More Of A Hierarchy Of Meaning Than Contemporary Bourgeois Profundity.

Never Stop Writing Because You Have Run Out Of Ideas.

In The End, We Get Older, We Kill Everyone Who Loves Us Through The Worries We Give Them, Through The Troubled Tenderness We Inspire In Them, And The Fears We Ceaselessly Cause.

If Sleep Is The Apogee Of Physical Relaxation, Boredom Is The Apogee Of Mental Relaxation. Boredom Is The Dream Bird That Hatches The Egg Of Experience.

For Every Second Of Time Was The Strait Gate Through Which The Messiah Might Enter.