And really, the reason we think of death in celestial terms is that the visible firmament, especially at night (above our blacked-out Paris with the gaunt arches of its Boulevard Exelmans and the ceaseless Alpine gurgle of desolate latrines), is the most adequate and ever-present symbol of that vast silent explosion.

I am not, and never was, and never could have been, a brutal scoundrel.

do what only a true artist can do ... pounce upon the forgotten butterfly of revelation

And I want to rise up, throw my arms open for a vast embrace, address an ample, luminous discourse to the invisible crowds. I would start like this: "O rainbow-colored gods. . .

My little cup brims with tiddles.

I would like to spare the time and effort of hack reviewers and, generally, persons who move their lips when reading.

As to the rest, I am no more guilty of imitating 'real life' than'real life' is responsible for plagiarizing me.