I've Never Gotten Used To Winter And

I Read About Writers Who Have Routines. They Write At Certain Times Of The Day. I Can't Do That. I Am Always Writing-but In My Head.

That Was The Moment He Got The Idea He Possessed Me In A Certain Way, And That Was The Moment I Grew Tired Of Him.

The Truth We Have To Face About The World We Live In Is That It's Driven By Profit, And Contradictions And Doubts Are Not Profitable. They Yield Wisdom, But Wisdom Is Not Profitable. I Find Pleasure In Doubt, But Let's Face It, My Pleasure Is Not Very Profitable. To Me, The Truth Is That Things Mean Many Things At Once, And All Of Them Opposed To Each Other, And All Of Them True.

The Strange Thing About My Life Is That I Came To America At About The Time When Racial Attitudes Were Changing. This Was A Big Help To Me. Also, The People Who Were Most Cruel To Me When I First Came To America Were Black Americans. They Made Absolute Fun Of The Way I Talked, The Way I Dressed. I Couldn't Dance. The People Who Were Most Kind And Loving To Me Were White People. So What Can One Make Of That? Perhaps It Was A Coincidence That All The People Who Found Me Strange Were Black And All The People Who Didn't Were White.

It Was Hollow, My Triumph, I Could Feel That, But I Held On To It Just The Same.