Without Stories We Would Go Mad. Life

Literature Doesn't Have A Country. Shakespeare Is An African Writer. His Falstaff, For Example, Is Very African In His Appetite For Life, His Largeness Of Spirit. The Characters Of Turgenev Are Ghetto Dwellers. Dickens Characters Are Nigerians.

To See The Madness And Yet Walk A Perfect Silver Line. ... That's What The True Story-teller Should Be: A Great Guide, A Clear Mind, Who Can Walk A Silver Line In Hell Or Madness.

There Is A Kind Of Expressed Love Which Is Easy To Subvert. When A Figure Is Loved For Their Deeds, Their Conquests, Their Heroism, Their Goodness, Their Love Of The People, These Are Easy Enough To Destroy... But There Is A Kind Of Love Which Is Felt For Apparently No Reason... A Love, Inspired, It Seems, By The Gods, Which It Is Impossible To Fight, Distort, Destroy, Or Weaken. In Fact, The Attempts To Destroy Such Loves Only Strengthen Them. And To Do Nothing Allows Them To Continue To Grow At Their Natural Pace, Inexoribly, Till This Love Becomes A Wide And Silent Adoration.

To Anyone Who Is Homeless, I Say, Find A Home.

Yes, The Highest Things Are Beyond Words. That Is Probably Why All Art Aspires To The Condition Of Wordlessness. When Literature Works On You, It Does So In Silence, In Your Dreams, In Your Wordless Moments. Good Words Enter You And Become Moods, Become The Quiet Fabric Of Your Being. Like Music, Like Painting, Literature Too Wants To Transcend Its Primary Condition And Become Something Higher. Art Wants To Move Into Silence, Into The Emotional And Spiritual Conditions Of The World. Statues Become Melodies, Melodies Become Yearnings, Yearnings Become Actions.