I'm A Hypocrite, Of Course, And I

None Of Those Other Things Makes A Difference. Love Is The Strongest Thing In The World, You Know. Nothing Can Touch It. Nothing Comes Close. If We Love Each Other We're Safe From It All. Love Is The Biggest Thing There Is.

It's A Brooding Melancholy That Haunts Me.

The Real Question Is: How Do You React? What Do You Do Next? Evade Responsibilities? Bury Yourself In Work? What Do You Do? All Three Of My Novels Take Up That Question, Although None Gives An Answer.

To Deny That There Was This Dark Side Of Life Would Be Like Pretending That The Cold Of Winter Was Somehow Only A Temporary Illusion, A Way Station On The Way To The Higher "reality" Of Long, Warm, Pleasant Summers. But Summer, It Turned Out, Was No More Real Than The Snow That Melted In Wintertime.

That The World Was Silent And Cold And Bare And That In This Lay Its Terrible Beauty