Sex Is A Momentary Itch, Love Never

When That Ineffable Compound Of Depression, Sadness (these Two Are Not The Same), Anxiety, Self-hatred, Sense Of Failure And Fear For The Future Begins To Steal Over You, Start Telling Yourself That What You Have Is A Hangover. You Are Not Sickening For Anything, You Have Not Suffered A Minor Brain Lesion, You Are Not All That Bad At Your Job, Your Family And Friends Are Not Leagued In A Conspiracy Of Barely Maintained Silence About What A S**t You Are, You Have Not Come At Last To See Life As It Really Is And There Is No Use Crying Over Spilt Milk.

To Refer Even In Passing To Unpublished Or Struggling Authors And Their Problems Is To Put Oneself At Some Risk, So I Will Say Here And Now That Any Unsolicited Manuscripts Or Typescripts Sent To Me Will Be Destroyed Unread. You Must Make Your Way Yourself. Why You Should Be So Set On The Nearly Always Disappointing Profession Is A Puzzling Question.

He Was Of The Faith Chiefly In The Sense That The Church He Currently Did Not Attend Was Catholic.

I Wish I Could Have A Little Tape-and-loudspeaker Arrangement Sewn Into The Binding Of This Magazine, To Be Triggered Off By The Light Reflected From The Reader's Eyes On To This Part Of The Page, And Set To Bawl Out At Several Bels: More Will Mean Worse.

Work Was Like Cats Were Supposed To Be: If You Disliked And Feared It And Tried To Keep Out If Its Way, It Knew At Once And Sought You Out And Jumped On Your Lap And Climbed All Over You To Show How Much It Loved You. Please God, He Thought, Don't Let Me Die In Harness.