The Earth Is Mostly Just A Boneyard.

From Him To The Stars, In All Directions, There Was Only Silence And Emptiness.

In Times Of Crisis Human Beings Don't Have It In Them To Be Rational.

Obviously, Where Art Has It Over Life Is In The Matter Of Editing. Life Can Be Seen To Suffer From A Drastic Lack Of Editing. It Stops Too Quick, Or Else It Goes On Too Long. Worse, Its Pacing Is Erratic. Some Chapters Are Little More Than A Few Sentences In Length, While Others Stretch Into Volumes. Life, For All Its Raw Talent, Has Little Sense Of Structure. It Creates Amazing Textures, But It Can't Be Counted On For Snappy Beginnings Or Good Endings Either. Indeed, In Many Cases No Ending Is Provided At All.

Incompetents Invariably Make Trouble For People Other Than Themselves.

I Remember That The Single Most Vicious Letter I Ever Read Was The Letter Hemingway Wrote Scribners When They Asked Him To Give A Blurb For From Here To Eternity. It's There, In The Selected Letters For All To Read, An Example Of A Once Great Writer At His Very Worst. I Doubt That He Ever Forgave Scribners For Publishing James Jones In The First Place. War, As Hemingway Saw It, Belonged To Him.