When Good Befalls A Man He Calls

I Have Gone To The Forest.

The Other One He Loved Like A Slave, Like A Madman And Like A Beggar. Why? Ask The Dust On The Road And The Falling Leaves, Ask The Mysterious God Of Life; For No One Knows Such Things. She Gave Him Nothing, No Nothing Did She Give Him And Yet He Thanked Her. She Said: Give Me Your Peace And Your Reason! And He Was Only Sorry She Did Not Ask For His Life.

And Love Was Creation's Source,creation's Ruler; But All Love's Ways Are Strewn With Blossoms And Blood, Blossoms And Blood.

Language Must Resound With All The Harmonies Of Music. The Writer Must Always, At All Times, Find The Tremulous Word Which Captures The Thing And Is Able To Draw A Sob From My Soul By Its Very Rightness.

The Long, Long Road Over The Moors And Up Into The Forest - Who Trod It Into Being First Of All? Man, A Human Being, The First That Came Here. There Was No Path Before He Came.