My Mother Refused To Let Me Fail.

The Present Age Is Demented. It Is Possessed By A Sense Of Dislocation, A Loss Of Personal Identity, An Alternating Sentimentality And Rage Which, In An Individual Patient, Could Be Characterized As Dementia.

Other People, So I Have Read, Treasure Memorable Moments In Their Lives: The Time One Climbed The Parthenon At Sunrise, The Summer Night One Met A Lonely Girl In Central Park And Achieved With Her A Sweet And Natural Relationship, As They Say In Books. I Too Once Met A Girl In Central Park, But It Is Not Much To Remember. What I Remember Is The Time John Wayne Killed Three Men With A Carbine As He Was Falling To The Dusty Street In Stagecoach, And The Time The Kitten Found Orson Welles In The Doorway In The Third Man.

[in Art] You Are Telling The Reader Or The Listener Or The Viewer Something He Already Knows But Which He Doesn't Quite Know That He Knows, So That In The Action Of Communication He Experiences A Recognition, A Feeling That He Has Been There Before, A Shock Of Recognition.

Like Many Young Men In The South, He Had Trouble Ruling Out The Possible. They Are Not Like An Immigrant's Son In Passaic Who Desires To Become A Dentist And That Is That. Southerners Have Trouble Ruling Out The Possible. What Happens To A... Man To Whom All Things Seem Possible And Every Course Of Action Open? Nothing Of Course.

The Search Is What Anyone Would Undertake If He Were Not Sunk In The Everydayness Of His Own Life. To Become Aware Of The Possibility Of The Search Is To Be Onto Something. Not To Be Onto Something Is To Be In Despair.