You're A Beautiful Drunk, Daughter. But You're

Then I Said Something. I Said, Suppose, Just Suppose, Nothing Had Ever Happened. Suppose This Was For The First Time. Just Suppose. It Doesn't Hurt To Suppose. Say None Of The Other Had Ever Happened. You Know What I Mean? Then What? I Said.

A Man Without Hands Came To The Door To Sell Me A Photograph Of My House. Except For The Chrome Hooks, He Was An Ordinary-looking Man Of Fifty Or So.

Ralph Also Took Some Classes In Philosophy And Literature And Felt Himself On The Brink Of Some Kind Of Huge Discovery About Himself. But It Never Came.

Every Great Or Even Every Very Good Writer Makes The World Over According To His Own Specifications.

Writers Will Be Judged By What They Write.