I No Longer Feel Banished From Myself.

Do The Structures Of Language And The Structures Of Reality (by Which I Mean What Actually Happens) Move Along Parallel Lines? Does Reality Essentially Remain Outside Language, Separate, Obdurate, Alien, Not Susceptible To Description? Is An Accurate And Vital Correspondence Between What Is And Our Perception Of It Impossible? Or Is It That We Are Obliged To Use Language Only In Order To Obscure And Distort Reality -- To Distort What Happens -- Because We Fear It?

I've Had My Fill Of These City Guttersnipes--all That Scavenging Scum! They're The Sort Of People, Who, If The Gates Of Heaven Opened To Them, All They'd Feel Would Be A Draught.

There Are Places In My Heart...where No Living Soul...has...or Can Ever...trespass.

I No Longer Feel Banished From Myself.

There Never Is Any Such Thing As One Truth To Be Found In Dramatic Art. There Are Many. These Truths Challenge Each Other, Recoil From Each Other, Reflect Each Other, Ignore Each Other, Tease Each Other, Are Blind To Each Other. Sometimes You Feel You Have The Truth Of A Moment In Your Hand, Then It Slips Through Your Fingers And Is Lost.