My editors say I am a good professional.
And that, my liberal-intellectual critics add, is all: a capable hack.
O liberals.
O cognoscenti.
O critics.
I give you my death-wish—and the atom bomb for its consummation.
Why didn't you study it sooner?
You copied into your literature whatever you saw on washroom walls—and little else—while brighter boys copied Bohr's equations from blackboards.
Both were true.
Both were real.