My First Job Was Working In A

The Truth Came Slowly Like A Story Told By People Interrupting Each Other.

When I Had A Few Francs, I Spent Them At A Café On The Place De Longchamps, A Block Or So From My Pension, Where I Could Order A Glass Of Beaujolais And A Plate Of String Beans In Vinaigrette For The Equivalent Of Fifteen Cents.

The Language Of Labels Is Like Paper Money, Issued Irresponsibly, With Nothing Of Intrinsic Value Behind It, That Is, With No Effort Of The Intelligence To See, To Really Apprehend.

Literature Is The Province Of Imagination, And Stories, In Whatever Guise, Are Meditations On Life.

In My Early Twenties, That's When I Really Began To Write. Before That, I Was Too Busy Working, Keeping Myself Going.