There is universal substance which is divine substance because where else can it be?
I don't know, I don't care, and it doesn't make any difference.
Man, wow, there's so many things to do, so many things to write! How to even begin to get it all down and without modified restraints and all hung-up on like literary inhibitions and grammatical fears.
"What do you want out of life?" I asked, and I used to ask that all the time of girls.
I'm going to marry my novels and have little short stories for children.
He seems to me to be headed for his ideal fate, which is compulsive psychosis dashed with a jigger of psychopathic irresponsibility and violence