The Art Of The Novel Is To

I Am Not Here Only So That The Blind Might See, But To Teach Those Who Thought They Could See That They Are Blind

Three Miles Long And Two Streets Wide, The Town Curls Around The Bay ... A Gaudy Run With Mediterranean Splashes Of Color, Crowded Steep-pitched Roofs, Fishing Piers And Fishing Boats Whose Stench Of Mackerel And Gasoline Is As Aphrodisiac To The Sensuous Nose As The Clean Bar-whisky Smell Of A Nightclub Where Call Girls Congregate.

Growth Is A Greater Mystery Than Death. All Of Us Can Understand Failure, We All Contain Failure And Death Within Us, But Not Even The Successful Man Can Begin To Describe The Impalpable Elations And Apprehensions Of Growth.

Hip Is The Sophistication Of The Wise Primitive In A Giant Jungle.

Mike Lee Writes With Honesty, Penetration, Wit And The Ability To Surprise The Reader With An Unexpected Turn From Time To Time That Enriches The Experience.