“In utter loneliness a writer tries to explain the inexplicable.” — John Steinbeck

Syntax, my lad. It has been restored to the highest place in the republic.

I have never smuggled anything in my life. Why, then, do I feel an uneasy sense of guilt on approaching a customs barrier?

These words dropped into my childish mind as if you should accidentally drop a ring into a deep well. I did not think of them much at the time, but there came a day in my life when the ring was fished up out of the well, good as new.

I have owed you this letter for a very long time-but my fingers have avoided the pencil as though it were an old and poisoned tool.