Through The Loveliness And Power Of Her

I Do Not Know If You Remember The Tale Of The Girl Who Saves The Ship Under Mutiny By Sitting On The Powder Barrel With Her Lighted Torch... And All The Time Knowing That It Is Empty? This Has Seemed To Me A Charming Image Of The Women Of My Time. There They Were, Keeping The World In Order... By Sitting On The Mystery Of Life, And Knowing Themselves That There Was No Mystery.

The Present Is Always Unsettled, No One Has Had Time To Contemplate It In Tranquillity . I Was A Painter Before I Was A Writer And A Painter Never Wants The Subject Right Under His Nose; He Wants To Stand Back And Study A Landscape With Half-closed Eyes.

Within Our Whole Universe The Story Only Has The Authority To Answer That Cry Of Heart Of Its Characters, That One Cry Of Heart Of Each Of Them: "who Am I?"

There Is Something Strangely Determinate And Fatal About A Single Shot In The Night. It Is As If Someone Had Cried A Message To You In One Word, And Would Not Repeat It.

Coffee, According To The Women Of Denmark, Is To The Body What The Word Of The Lord Is To The Soul.