Art Is Amoral, Whether We

All My Life I Have Lied. I Lied To Escape, I Lied To Be Loved, I Lied For Placement And Power; I Lied To Lie. It Was A Way Of Living; Lies Are Life's Almost-anagram.

You Will Remember This When All Else Fades, This Moment, Here, Together, By This Well. There Will Be Certain Days, And Certain Nights, You’ll Feel My Presence Near You, Hear My Voice. You’ll Think You Have Imagined It And Yet, Inside You, You Will Catch An Answering Cry. On April Evenings, When The Rain Has Ceased, Your Heart Will Shake, You’ll Weep For Nothing, Pine For What’s Not There. For You, This Life Will Never Be Enough, There Will Forever Be An Emptiness, Where Once The God Was All In All In You.

The World Is Not Real For Me Until It Has Been Pushed Through The Mesh Of Language.

I Dont Know If There Is A Personal Identity. We All Imagine That We Are Absolute Individuals. But When We Begin To Look For Where This Individuality Resides, Its Very Difficult To Find.

In My Books You Have To Concentrate, But I Work Hard To Make It That, When You Do, The Rewards Are Quite High.