You Are A Queen. Let Mine Be

Regret Is An Appalling Waste Of Energy, And No One Who Intends To Be A Writer Can Afford To Indulge In It.

Risk! Risk Anything! Care No More For The Opinions Of Others, For Those Voices. Do The Hardest Thing On Earth For You. Act For Yourself. Face The Truth.

Ach, Tchekov! Why Are You Dead? Why Can’t I Talk To You In A Big Darkish Room At Late Evening—where The Light Is Green From The Waving Trees Outside? I’d Like To Write A Series Of Heavens: That Would Be One.

You Are A Queen. Let Mine Be The Joy Of Giving You Your Kingdom.

Tidied All My Papers. Tore Up And Ruthlessly Destroyed Much. This Is Always A Great Satisfaction.