Other People Must Be Destroyed. In Order

Isao Had Never Felt That He Might Want To Be A Woman. He Had Never Wished For Anything Else But To Be A Man, Live In A Manly Way, Die A Manly Death. To Be Thus A Man Was To Give Constant Proof Of One's Manliness-to Be More A Man Today Than Yesterday, More A Man Tomorrow Than Today. To Be A Man Was To Forge Ever Upward Toward The Peak Of Manhood, There To Die Amid The White Snows Of That Peak.

In The Pale Light Of Daybreak The Gravestones Looked Like So Many White Sails Of Boats Anchored In A Busy Harbor. They Were Sails That Would Never Again Be Filled With Wind, Sails That, Too Long Unused And Heavily Drooping, Had Been Turned Into Stone Just As They Were. The Boats' Anchors Had Been Thrust So Deeply Into The Dark Earth That They Could Never Again Be Raised.

The Past Does Not Only Draw Us Back To The Past. There Are Certain Memories Of The Past That Have Strong Steel Springs And, When We Who Live In The Present Touch Them, They Are Suddenly Stretched Taut And Then They Propel Us Into The Future.

However, As Words Become Particularized, And As Men Begin - In However Small A Way - To Use Them In Personal, Arbitrary Ways, So Their Transformation Into Art Begins. It Was Words Of This Kind That, Descending On Me Like A Swarm Of Winged Insects, Seized On My Individuality And Sought To Shut Me Up Within It. Nevertheless, Despite The Enemy's Depredations Upon My Person, I Turned Their Universality - At Once A Weapon And A Weakness - Back On Them, And To Some Extent Succeeded In Using Words To Universalize To My Own Individuality.

All My Life I Have Been Acutely Aware Of A Contradiction In The Very Nature Of My Existence. For Forty-five Years I Struggled To Resolve This Dilemma By Writing Plays And Novels. The More I Wrote, The More I Realized Mere Words Were Not Enough. So I Found Another Form Of Expression.