I Insist On Knowing The Names, On

It Is Impossible For Me To Envisage A Picture As Being Other Than A Window, And Why My First Concern Is Then To Know What It Looks Out On.

A Game: Say Something. Close Your Eyes And Say Something. Anything, A Number, A Name. Like This (she Closes Her Eyes): Two, Two What? Two Women. What Do They Look Like? Wearing Black. Where Are They? In A Park. . . . And Then, What Are They Doing? Try It, It's So Easy, Why Don't You Want To Play? You Know, That's How I Talk To Myself When I'm Alone, I Tell Myself All Kinds Of Stories. And Not Only Silly Stories: Actually, I Live This Way Altogether.

To Speak Of God, To Think Of God, Is In Every Respect To Show What One Is Made Of. I Have Always Wagered Against God And I Regard The Little That I Have Won In This World As Simply The Outcome Of This Bet. However Paltry May Have Been The Stake (my Life) I Am Conscious Of Having Won To The Full. Everything That Is Doddering, Squint-eyed, Vile, Polluted And Grotesque Is Summoned Up For Me In That One Word: God!

Keep Reminding Yourself That Literature Is One Of The Saddest Roads That Leads To Everything.

Surrealism Will Usher You Into Death, Which Is A Secret Society. It Will Glove Your Hand, Burying Therein The Profound M With Which The Word Memory Begins.