We Are Not Damned. We Never Were.

I Was Good And Bad, But Never Wicked.

Despair Was So Familiar To Me; It Could Be Banished By The Sight Of A Beautiful Mannikin In The Window. It Could Be Dispelled By The Spectacle Of Lights Surrounding A Tower. It Could Be Lifted By The Great Ghostly Shape Of St. Patrick's Coming Into View. And Then Despair Would Come Again.

I Am Afraid Of Death. I Believe Nothing, And Therefore Like Many Who Believe Nothing I Must Make Something, And That Something Is The Meaning Which I Give My Life.

That Process By Which You Become A Writer Is A Pretty Lonely One. We Don't Have A Group Apprenticeship Like A Violinist Might Training For An Orchestra.

Time Can Tick When There Is No Clock.