All Are / Naked, None Is Safe.

The Ocean, Under The Pulsation Of Lighthouses And Noise Of Bell Buoys, Advances As Usual, Looking As If It Were Not That Ocean In Which Dropped Things Are Bound To Sink-- In Which If They Turn And Twist, It Is Neither With Volition Nor Consciousness.

A Man Is A Writer If All His Words Are Strung In Definite Sentence Sounds.

Omissions Are Not Accidents.

Fanaticism? No. Writing Is Exciting And Baseball Is Like Writing. You Can Never Tell With Either How It Will Go.

So Wary As To Disappear For Centuries And Reappear But Never Caught, The Unicorn Has Been Preserved By An Unmatched Device Wrought Like The Work Of Expert Blacksmiths.