I was reading for understanding. I wanted to do to a reader what Salinger did for me.
As nearly as possible in the spirit of Matthew Salinger, age one, urging a luncheon companion to accept a cool lima bean, I urge my editor, mentor and (heaven help him) closest friend, William Shawn, genius domus of The New Yorker, lover of the long shot, protector of the unprolific, defender of the hopelessly flamboyant, most unreasonably modest of born great artist-editors to accept this pretty skimpy-looking book.
(Rush are) like the JD Salinger of Canadian Prog Rock
I think J.D. Salinger is correct in granting no interviews, and in making no speeches
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