I Have Tried," I Said, "but He

I Must Write. If I Stop Writing My Life Will Have Been An Abject Failure. It Is That Already To Other People. But It Could Be An Abject Failure To Myself. I Will Not Have Earned Death.

Not That She Objected To Solitude. Quite The Contrary. She Had Books, Thank Heaven, Quantities Of Books. All Sorts Of Books.

I Have Tried," I Said, "but He Does Not Believe Me. It Is Too Late For That Now" (it Is Always Too Late For Truth, I Thought).

Even The One Moment That You Thought Was Your Eternity Fades Out And Is Forgotten And Dies.

I Sit At My Window And The Words Fly Past Me Like Birds — With God's Help I Catch Some.