When You Travel Your First Discovery Is

Gertrude Stein, All Courage And Will, Is A Soldier Of Minimalism. Her Work, Unlike The Resonating Silences In The Art Of Samuel Beckett, Embodies In Its Loquacity And Verbosity The Curious Paradox Of The Minimalist Form. This Art Of The Nuance In Repetition And Placement She Shares With The Orchestral Compositions Of Philip Glass.

I Am Alone Here In New York, No Longer A We.

A Letter Is Not A Dialogue Or Even An Omniscient Exposition. It Is A Fabric Of Surfaces, A Mask, A Form As Well Suited To Affectations As To The Affections. The Letter Is, By Its Natural Shape, Self-justifying; It Is One's Own Evidence, Deposition, A Self-serving Testimony. In A Letter The Writer Holds All The Cards, Controls Everything About Himself And About Those Assertions He Wishes To Make Concerning Events Or The Worth Of Others. For Completely Self-centered Characters, The Letter Form Is A Complex And Rewarding Activity.

Letters Are Above All Useful As A Means Of Expressing The Ideal Self; And No Other Method Of Communication Is Quite So Good For This Purpose. In Letters We Can Reform Without Practice, Beg Without Humiliation, Snip And Shape Embarrassing Experiences To The Measure Of Our Own Desires.

Self-love Is An Idolatry. Self-hatred Is A Tragedy.