I Am An Invisible Man. No, I

Having Tried To Give Pattern To The Chaos Which Lives Within The Pattern Of Your Certainties, I Must Come Out, I Must Emerge.

All Novels Are About Certain Minorities: The Individual Is A Minority. The Universal In The Novel-and Isn't That What We're All Clamoring For These Days?-is Reached Only Through The Depiction Of The Specific Man In A Specific Circumstance.

I Was Never More Hated Than When I Tried To Be Honest. Or When, Even As Just Now I've Tried To Articulate Exactly What I Felt To Be The Truth. No One Was Satisfied

The Blues Is An Art Of Ambiguity, An Assertion Of The Irrepressibly Human Over All Circumstance Whether Created By Others Or By One's Own Human Failings. They Are The Only Consistent Art In The United States Which Constantly Remind Us Of Our Limitations While Encouraging Us To See How Far We Can Actually Go. When Understood In Their More Profound Implication, They Are A Corrective, An Attempt To Draw A Line Upon Man's Own Limitless Assertion.

What And How Much Had I Lost By Trying To Do Only What Was Expected Of Me Instead Of What I Myself Had Wished To Do?