If You Write Enough, You Begin To

On The Internet, Everyone Is Writing. There Is A Great Flowering Of Writing.

Age Doesn't Arrive Slowly, It Comes In A Rush. One Day Nothing Has Changed, A Week Later, Everything Has. A Week May Be Too Long A Time, It Can Happen Overnight. You Are The Same And Still The Same And Suddenly One Morning Two Distinct Lines, Ineradicable, Have Appeared At The Corners Of Your Mouth.

Happiness Is Often At Its Most Intense When It Is Based On Inequality.

In A Certain Sense, A Writer Is An Exile, An Outsider, Always Reporting On Things, And It Is Part Of His Life To Keep On The Move. Travel Is Natural.

You Lived And Died Alone, Especially In Fighters. Fighters. Somehow, Despite Everything, That Word Had Not Become Sterile. You Slipped Into The Hollow Cockpit And Strapped And Plugged Yourself Into The Machine. The Canopy Ground Shut And Sealed You Off. Your Oxygen, Your Very Breath, You Carried Into The Chilled Vacuum, In A Steel Bottle.