There Is No Limit To Desire But

What Art Ought To Do Is Tell Stories Which Are Moment-by-moment Wonderful, Which Are True To Human Experience, And Which In No Way Explain Human Experience.

When I Was A Child I Truly Loved: Unthinking Love As Calm And Deep As The North Sea. But I Have Lived, And Now I Do Not Sleep.

They Watch On, Evil, Incredibly Stupid, Enjoying My Destruction. 'poor Grendel's Had An Accident,' I Whisper. 'so May You All.

Art Gropes. It Stalks Like A Hunter Lost In The Woods, Listening To Itself And To Everything Around It, Unsure Of Itself, Waiting To Pounce.

I Cannot Believe Such Monstrous Energy Of Grief Can Lead To Nothing!