He Lost Himself In A Maze Of

The Candle-buds Opened Their Wide White Flowers....their Scent Spilled Out Into The Air And Took Possession Of The Island.

Maybe Half A Dozen Think They Are A Community, But, In General Terms, I Think English Writers Tend To Face Outwards, Away From Each Other, And Write In Their Own Patch, As It Were.

Kill The Pig. Cut Her Throat. Spill Her Blood.

I Don't Think They [contemporary Writers] Read Me Either. I Mean, If We're Concerned Genuinely With Writing, I Think We Probably Get On With Our Work.

Honestly, I Haven't The Time To Read Contemporary Writers. I Know This Is Awful, But In The Main It Is True.