I Don't Fear Death. I'm Not Obsessed

We Dash The Black River, Its Flats Smooth As Stone. Not A Ship, Not A Dinghy, Not One Cry Of White. The Water Lies Broken, Cracked From The Wind. This Great Estuary Is Wide, Endless. The River Is Brackish, Blue With The Cold. It Passes Beneath Us Blurring. The Sea Birds Hang Above It, They Wheel, Disappear. We Flash The Wide River, A Dream Of The Past. The Deeps Fall Behind, The Bottom Is Paling The Surface, We Rush By The Shallows, Boats Beached For Winter, Desolate Piers. And On Wings Like The Gulls, Soar Up, Turn, Look Back.

A Film Writer Is Very Much Like A Party Girl. While You're Good-looking And Still Unlined, The Possibilities Seem Endless. But Your Appeal Doesn't Last Long And You're Quickly Discarded.

Now They Are Lovers. The First, Wild Courses Are Ended. They Have Founded Their Domain. A Satanic Happiness Follows.

I'd Given Up Everything To Be A Writer, And If I Didn't Then Go On To Do That - To Write - Then I Didn't Know What Would Happen To Me.

One Alters The Past To Form The Future But There Is A Real Significance To The Pattern Which Finally Appears, Which Resists All Further Change.