I Give The Name Violence To A

In Order To Weep, I Had Descended To The Realm Of The Dead Themselves, To Their Secret Chambers, Led By The Invisible But Soft Hands Of Birds Down Stairways Which Were Folded Up Again As I Advanced. I Displayed My Grief In The Friendly Fields Of Death, Far From Men: Within Myself.

If We Behave Like Those On The Other Side, Then We Are The Other Side. Instead Of Changing The World, All We'll Achieve Is A Reflection Of The One We Want To Destroy.

Men Endowed With A Wild Imagination Should Have, In Addition, The Great Poetic Faculty Of Denying Our Universe And Its Values So That They May Act Upon It With Sovereign Ease.

Erotic Play Discloses A Nameless World Which Is Revealed By The Nocturnal Language Of Lovers. Such Language Is Not Written Down. It Is Whispered Into The Ear At Night In A Hoarse Voice. At Dawn It Is Forgotten.

...the Characters In My Books All Resemble Each Other. They Live, With Minor Variations, The Same Moments, The Same Perils, And When I Speak Of Them, My Language, Which Is Inspired By Them, Repeats The Same Poems In The Same Tone.