I don't have principles. I have nerves.
The surest defense against Evil is extreme individualism, originality of thinking, whimsicality, even - if you will - eccentricity. That is, something that can't be feigned, faked, imitated; something even a seasoned imposter couldn't be happy with.
Snobbery? But it's only a form of despair.
Who included me among the ranks of the human race?
When I'm not writing or reading, I'm thinking about both.
What should I say about life? That it's long and abhors transparence.