I've Always Felt, As A Writer, That

Facts Are The Images Of History, Just As Images Are The Facts Of Fiction.

There Are Moments When I Cannot Bear This Unremitting Consciousness. It Knows Only Itself. Awake, I Am In A Continuum With My Dreams. I Feel My Typewriters, My Table, My Chair To Have That Assurance Of A Solid World, Where Things Take Up Space, Where Is Not The Endless Emptiness Of Insubstantial Thought That Leads To Nowhere But Itself. My Memories Pale As I Prevail Upon Them Again And Again. They Become More And More Ghostly. I Fear Nothing So Much As Losing Them Altogether And Having Only My Blank Endless Mind To Live In.

What We Call Fiction Is The Ancient Way Of Knowing, The Total Discourse That Antedates All The Special Vocabularies....fiction Is Democratic, It Reasserts The Authority Of The Single Mind To Make And Remake The World.

Implications Of Treason Are Fed Like Cubes Of Sugar To The Twelve-headed Animal Which Is Justice. In ... Opening Remarks. In The Way Questions Are Asked. In Support Of Lines Of Questioning Where Cases Of Treason Are Cited And The Judge Endorses The Relevance Of The Citation.

And So The Ordinary Unendurable Torments We All Experienced Were Indeed Exceptional In The Way They Were Absorbed In Each Heart.