I Have Gone To The Forest.

The Heavy Red Roses Smoldering In The Foggy Morning, Blood-colored And Uninhibited, Made Me Greedy, And Tempted Me Powerfully To Steal One--i Asked The Prices Merely So I Could Come As Near Them As Possible.

I Was Conscious All The Time That I Was Following Mad Whims Without Being Able To Do Anything About It … . Despite My Alienation From Myself At That Moment, And Even Though I Was Nothing But A Battleground For Invisible Forces, I Was Aware Of Every Detail Of What Was Going On Around Me.

The Writer Must Be Able To Revel And Roll In The Abundance Of Words; He Must Know Not Only The Direct But Also The Secret Power Of A Word. There Are Overtones And Undertones To A Word, And Lateral Echoes, Too.

Do Not Forget, Some Give Little, And It Is Much For Them, Others Give All, And It Costs Them No Effort; Who Then Has Given Most?

I Can't Even Make Up A Rhyme About An Umbrella, Let Alone Death And Life And Eternal Peace.