Writing Is A Strong Easement For Perplexity.

You Always Feel When You Look It Straight In The Eye That You Could Have Put More Into It, Could Have Let Yourself Go And Dug Harder.

Twenty Can't Be Expected To Tolerate Sixty In All Things, And Sixty Gets Bored Stiff With Twenty's Eternal Love Affairs.

I Think That One's Art Is A Growth Inside One. I Do Not Think One Can Explain Growth. It Is Silent And Subtle. One Does Not Keep Digging Up A Plant To See How It Grows.

Oh I Do Want That Thing, That Oneness Of Movement That Will Catch The Thing Up Into One Movement And Sing - Harmony Of Life.

There Is A Side Of Friendship That Develops Better And Stronger By Correspondence Than Contact.... The Absence Of The Flesh In Writing Perhaps Brings Souls Nearer.