For In Spite Of The Snapdragons And

The Strain Of Constant Adaptation To So Many Fearful Events And Discoveries Is Already Too Much To Bear With Sanity; One Has To Keep Pretending To Slip Successfully Into The New Mould; A Time Will Come When The Tailored And Camouflaged Mind Breaks Beneath The Burden; The Stick Insect In Our Brains No Longer Cares To Resemble A Twig On The Same Habitual Human Tree In The Mere Hope That It May Survive Extinction.

All Writers - All Beings - Are Exiles As A Matter Of Course. The Certainty About Living Is That It Is A Succession Of Expulsions Of Whatever Carries The Life Force...all Writers Are Exiles Wherever They Live And Their Work Is A Lifelong Journey Towards The Lost Land.

They Think I'm Going To Be A Schoolteacher But I'm Going To Be A Poet.

She Grew More And More Silent About What Really Mattered. She Curled Inside Herself Like One Of Those Black Chimney Brushes, The Little Shellfish You See On The Beach, And You Touch Them, And Then Go Inside And Don’t Come Out.

Very Often The Law Of Extremity Demands An Attention To Irrelevance.