I Do Not Have Any Home. So

We Live In The Richest Country In The World. There's Plenty And To Spare For No Man, Woman, Or Child To Be In Want. And In Addition To This Our Country Was Founded On What Should Have Been A Great, True Principle - The Freedom, Equality, And Rights Of Each Individual. Huh! And What Has Come Of That Start? There Are Corporations Worth Billions Of Dollars - And Hundreds Of Thousands Of People Who Don't Get To Eat.

There Are All These People Here I Don't Know By Sight Or By Name. And We Pass Alongside Each Other And Don't Have Any Connection. And They Don't Know Me And I Don't Know Them. And Now I'm Leaving Town And There Are All These People I Will Never Know.

A Writer Soon Discovers He Has No Single Identity But Lives The Lives Of All The People He Creates And His Weathers Are Independent Of The Actual Day Around Him. I Live With The People I Create And It Has Always Made My Essential Loneliness Less Keen.

This Fear Is One Of The Horrors Of An Author's Life. Where Does Work Come From? What Chance, What Small Episode Will Start The Chain Of Creation? I Once Wrote A Story About A Writer Who Could Not Write Anymore, And My Friend Tennessee Williams Said, 'how Could You Dare Write That Story, It's The Most Frightening Work I Have Ever Read.' I Was Pretty Well Sunk While I Was Writing It.

Because In Some Men It Is In Them To Give Up Everything Personal At Some Time, Before It Ferments And Poisons--throw It To Some Human Being Or Some Human Idea. They Have To.