An Ugly Voice Repels Me Where An

Every Murderer Is Probably Somebody's Old Friend.

But Surely For Everything You Love You Have To Pay Some Price.

Where Do One's Fears Come From? Where Do They Shape Themselves? Where Do They Hide Before Coming Out Into The Open?

I, Myself, Was Always Recognized . . . As The “slow One” In The Family. It Was Quite True, And I Knew It And Accepted It. Writing And Spelling Were Always Terribly Difficult For Me. My Letters Were Without Originality. I Was . . . An Extraordinarily Bad Speller And Have Remained So Until This Day.

But No Artist, I Now Realize, Can Be Satisfied With Art Alone. There Is A Natural Craving For Recognition Which Cannot Be Gain-said.