All Pasts Are Like Poems; One Can

The Newspapers Are Full Of What We Would Like To Happen To Us And What We Hope Will Never Happen To Us.

I Suppose I'd Had, By The Standards Of That Pre-permissive Time, A Good Deal Of Sex For My Age. Girls, Or A Certain Kind Of Girl, Liked Me; I Had A Car-not So Common Among Undergraduates In Those Days-and I Had Some Money. I Wasn't Ugly; And Even More Important, I Had My Loneliness, Which, As Every Cad Knows, Is A Deadly Weapon With Women. My 'technique' Was To Make A Show Of Unpredictability, Cynicism, And Indifference. Then, Like A Conjurer With His White Rabbit, I Produced The Solitary Heart.

Always We Try To Put The Wild In A Cage.

Alive. Alive In The Way That Death Is Alive.

I Read And I Read; And I Was Like A Medieval King, I Had Fallen In Love With The Picture Long Before I Saw The Reality.