I'm Going To Put Death In All

I Very Much Dislike Writing About Myself Or My Work, And When Pressed For Autobiographical Material Can Only Give A Bare Chronological Outline Which Contains No Pertinent Facts.

It Is Only With The Eyes Open That A Corporeal Form Returns, And Assembles Itself Firmly Around The Hard Core Of Sight.

The Idea Of A Series Of Items, Following One Another Docilely, Forms The Only Possible Reasonable Approach To Life If You Have To Live It With A Home And A Husband And Children, None Of Whom Would Dream Of Following One Another Docilely.

[l]et My Reader Who Is Puzzled By My Awkward Explanations Close His Eyes For No More Than Two Minutes, And See If He Does Not Find Himself Suddenly Not A Compact Human Being At All, But Only A Consciousness On A Sea Of Sound And Touch . . .

I Never Was A Person Who Wanted A Handout. I Was A Cafeteria Worker. I'm Not Too Proud To Ask The Best Western Manager To Give Me A Job. I Have Cleaned Homes.