There, In The Tin Factory, In The

At Exactly Fifteen Minutes Past Eight In The Morning, On August 6, 1945, Japanese Time, At The Moment When The Atomic Bomb Flashed Above Hiroshima, Miss Toshiko Sasaki, A Clerk In The Personnel Department Of The East Asia Tin Works, Had Just Sat Down At Her Place In The Plant Office And Was Turning Her Head To Speak To The Girl At The Next Desk.

Journalism Allows Its Readers To Witness History; Fiction Gives Its Readers An Opportunity To Live It.

There, In The Tin Factory, In The First Moment Of The Atomic Age, A Human Being Was Crushed By Books.

To Be A Writer Is To Throw Away A Great Deal, Not To Be Satisfied, To Type Again, And Then Again And Once More, And Over And Over.

My Two Major Faults Are That I Row Too Long And Pick Up Too Many Women