I Am Empty Of Everything. I Am

Now At Last I Know Why I Was Brought Here And What I Have To Do.

I Didn't Know, I Didn't Know, I Didn't Know.

Cold - Cold As Truth, Cold As Life. No, Nothing Can Be As Cold As Life.

I Hadn't Bargained For This. I Didn't Think It Would Be Like This - Shabby Clothes, Worn-out Shoes, Circles Under Your Eyes, Your Hair Getting Straight And Lanky, The Way People Look At You. ... I Didn't Think It Would Be Like This

All Of Writing Is A Huge Lake. There Are Great Rivers That Feed The Lake, Like Tolstoy Or Dostoyevsky. And Then There Are Mere Trickles, Like Jean Rhys. All That Matters Is Feeding The Lake. I Don't Matter. The Lake Matters. You Must Keep Feeding The Lake.