We're Animals. We're Violent.

I Think That If In Your Heart, You Are Seeking Out A Real Puzzle, And You're Not Looking To Frighten Anybody, You're Not Looking To Upset Anybody, And You're Looking To Discuss A Subject That You Yourself Went Through When You Were Nine - You Just Don't Remember The Difficulties Of One's Own Childhood.

My Big Concern Is Me And What Do I Do Now Until The Time Of My Death. That Is Valid. That Is Useful. That Is Beautiful. That Is Creative.

As A Child, I Felt That Books Were Holy Objects, To Be Caressed, Rapturously Sniffed, And Devotedly Provided For. I Gave My Life To Them. I Still Do. I Continue To Do What I Did As A Child; Dream Of Books, Make Books And Collect Books.

It Is Such An Abundance Of Idiocy That You Lose Courage. That You Lose Hope. I Don't Want To Lose Hope. I Get Through Every Day. I'm Pretty Good. I Work. I Sleep. I Sing. I Walk.

And The Wild Things Roared Their Terrible Roars And Gnashed Their Terrible Teeth And Rolled Their Terrible Eyes And Showed Their Terrible Claws.