My Study Is A Converted Garage Which

All The Fear In The World, And The Violence That Comes From The Fear, And The Hatred That Comes From The Violence, And The Lonliness That Comes From The Hatred. All The Unhappiness, All The Cruelty, It Gathers Like Clouds In The Air, And Grows Dark And Cold And Heavy, And Falls Like Grey Snow In Thick Layers Over The Land. Then The World Is Muffled And Numb, And No One Can Hear Each Other Or Feel Each Other. Think How Sad And Lonely That Must Be.

Madly, Futilely, I Wrote Novel After Novel, Eight In All, That Failed To Find A Publisher. I Persisted Because For Me The Novel Was The Supreme Literary Form: Not Just One Among Many, Not A Relic Of The Past, But The Way We Communicate To One Another The Subtlest Truths About This Business Of Living.

When I Began To Write Seriously, 40 Years Ago Now, My Chosen Form Was The Novel.

To Put It Another Way, Pain Is God's Megaphone To Rouse A Deaf World. Why Must It Be Pain? Why Can't He Rouse Us More Gently, With Violins Or Laughter? Because The Dream From Which We Must Be Wakened, Is The Dream That All Is Well.

Today Begins My Walk With You. Where You Go, I Go. Where You Stay, I Stay. When You Sleep, I Will Sleep. When You Rise, I Will Rise. I Will Pass My Days Within The Sound Of Your Voice, And My Nights Within The Reach Of Your Hand. And None Shall Come Between Us. - Manth Vow