The body of Our Saviour shat but Our Saviour shat not.

For the speedy reader paragraphs become a country the eye flies over looking for landmarks, reference points, airports, restrooms, passages of sex.

It art can only succeed through the cooperating imagination and intelligence of its consumers, who fill out, for themselves, the artist's world and make it round, and whose own special genius partly determine the ultimate glory of it.

What one wants to do with stories is screw them up.

Literature is composed of quarter truths, and the quarters are often spent on penny candy.

Only the slow reader will notice the odd crowd of images-flier, butcher, seal-which have gathered to comment on the aims and activities of the speeding reader, perhaps like gossips at a wedding.

it is discouraging to leave the past behind only to see it coming toward you like the thunderstorm which drenched you yesterday.