Quite Like Old Times,' The Room Says.

I Must Write. If I Stop Writing My Life Will Have Been An Abject Failure. It Is That Already To Other People. But It Could Be An Abject Failure To Myself. I Will Not Have Earned Death.

You Can Pretend For A Long Time, But One Day It All Falls Away And You Are Alone. We Are Alone In The Most Beautiful Place In The World.

I Hated The Mountains And The Hills, The Rivers And The Rain. I Hated The Sunsets Of Whatever Colour, I Hated Its Beauty And Its Magic And The Secret I Would Never Know. I Hated Its Indifference And The Cruelty Which Was Part Of Its Loveliness. Above All I Hated Her. For She Belonged To The Magic And The Loveliness. She Had Left Me Thirsty And All My Life Would Be Thirst And Longing For What I Had Lost Before I Found It.

There Is Always The Other Side, Always.

A Room Is, After All, A Place Where You Hide From The Wolves. That's All Any Room Is.