Ideally, If Anything [was] Any Good, It

Neither Mine Nor Other People's Prospects Seem Particularly Pleasing Just At The Moment, And I Have Fantasies Of Going To Iceland, Never To Return. As It Is, I Tell Myself Not To Remember The Past, Not To Hope Or Fear For The Future, And Not To Think In The Present, A Comprehensive Program That Will Undoubtedly Have Very Little Success.

Some Tiny Creature, Mad With Wrath, Is Coming Nearer On The Path.

The Suicide, As She Is Falling, Illuminated By The Moon, Regrets Her Act, And Finds Appalling The Thought She Will Be Dead So Soon.

I Am A Person Before I Am Anything Else. I Never Say I Am A Writer. I Never Say I Am An Artist...i Am A Person Who Does Those Things.

If I Do Not Seem To Be Mentioning Anything I’ve Read Lately, It Is Because I Am In One Of Those Periods Of Undifferentiated Flux Or Something In Which I Am Reading About Fifty, At A Minimum, Books At Once, So Of Course I Seldom Finish One. Eventually This Phase Will Pass, And I’ll Discover I Have About Ten Pages To Go In All Of Them, And Will Sit Down And Systematically Finish Them, One After Another.