Now They Are Lovers. The First, Wild

In 1957, I Decided: Write Or Perish.

If You Write Enough, You Begin To Learn To Do Things. But In A Way, You Do Start From Zero Each Time.

It's Tremendous: This World, This Life. Take It While You Have It.

You Are Perfectly Entitled To Invent Your Life And To Claim That It's True.

Of Them All, It Was The True Love. Of Them All, It Was The Best. That Other Sumptuous Love Which Made One Drunk, Which One Longed For, Envied, Believed In, That Was Not Life. It Was What Life Was Seeking; It Was A Suspension Of Life. But To Be Close To A Child, For Whom One Spent Everything, Whose Life Was Protected And Nourished By One's Own, To Have That Child Beside One, At Peace, Was The Real, The Deepest, The Only Joy.