I Often Want To Cry. That Is

What You Take To Be Hyprocrisy Is Sometimes A Certain Caution, Sometimes Genuine, Though Ponderous, Childish, Sometimes A Mixture Of Both.

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.

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

It Was The Darkness That Got You. It Was Heavy Darkness, Greasy And Compelling. It Made Walls Round You, And Shut You In So That You Felt Like You Could Not Breathe.

Would You Like A Whiskey?' I Say. 'i've Got Some.' (that's Original. I Bet Nobody's Ever Thought Of That Way Of Bridging The Gap Before.)