Be Careful Of Monsters With Teeth

And We Passed Through The Cavern Of Rats. And We Passed Through The Path Of Boiling Steam. And We Passed Through The Country Of The Blind. And We Passed Through The Slough Of Despond. And We Passed Through The Vale Of Tears. And We Came, Finally, To The Ice Caverns.

Everyone Is Entitled To An *informed* Opinion.

I Will Live To Piss In The Open Mouths Or The Open Graves Of My Enemies, Whichever Comes First.

Writing Is The Hardest Work In The World. I Have Been A Bricklayer And A Truck Driver, And I Tell You – As If You Haven't Been Told A Million Times Already – That Writing Is Harder. Lonelier. And Nobler And More Enriching.

It Is Not Merely Enough To Love Literature If One Wishes To Spend One's Life As A Writer. It Is A Dangerous Undertaking On The Most Primitive Level. For, It Seems To Me, The Act Of Writing With Serious Intent Involves Enormous Personal Risk. It Entails The Ongoing Courage For Self-discovery. It Means One Will Walk Forever On The Tightrope, With Each New Step Presenting The Possiblity Of Learning A Truth About Oneself That Is Too Terrible To Bear.