All Art At A Certain Level Is

If They Give Me The Bloody Prize, Why Can't They Say Nice Things About Me?

I Am The Worst Judge Of My Books.

These Days I Must Take The World In Small And Carefully Measured Doses. It Is A Sort Of Homeopathic Cure I Am Undergoing, Though I Am Not Certain What This Cure Is Meant To Mend. Perhaps I Am Learning To Live Amongst The Living Again. Practising, I Mean. But No, That Is Not It. Being Here Is Just A Way Of Not Being Anywhere.

Sleep Is Uncanny, I Have Always Found It So, A Nightly Dress-rehearsal For Being Dead.

That's One Of The Many Things I Hate About Life, That It's A Hideously Cliched Business.