The Novel Is Resilient, And So Are

In The City Of Flesh I Travel Without Maps, A Worried Tourist: And Ottilie Was A Very Venice. I Stumbled Lost In The Blue Shade Of Her Pavements. Here Was A Dreamy Stillness, A Swaying, The Splash Of An Oar. Then, When I Least Expected It, Suddenly I Stepped Out Into The Great Square, The Sunlight, And She Was A Flock Of Birds Scattering With Soft Cries In My Arms.

The First Thought That Occurred To Me, That Night When I Heard The Chairman Of The Jury Announce My Name, Was, Just Think How Many People Hate Me At This Moment. Naturally, I Wanted To Annoy Those People Even Further By Being Arrogant.

A Plot Begins When Somebody Has Something To Hide.

All Art At A Certain Level Is Entertainment. We Go To A Tragedy By Sophocles To Be Entertained.

We Carry The Dead With Us Only Until We Die Too, And Then It Is We Who Are Borne Along For A Little While, And Then Our Bearers In Their Turn Drop, And So On Into The Unimaginable Generations.