There Sat I, A Faded Being, Under

A Stair Not Worn Hollow By Footsteps Is, Regarded From Its Own Point Of View, Only A Boring Something Made Of Wood.

To Write Prescriptions Is Easy, But To Come To An Understanding With People Is Hard.

All I Am Is Literature, And I Am Not Able Or Willing To Be Anything Else.

I Am A Cage, In Search Of A Bird.

Being Alone Has A Power Over Me That Never Fails. My Interior Dissolves (for The Time Being Only Superficially) And Is Ready To Release What Lies Deeper. When I Am Willfully Alone, A Slight Ordering Of My Interior Begins To Take Place And I Need Nothing More.