Could It Ever Be Explained,

It Was Thought, Perception, Sensations That Interested Her, The Conscious Mind As A River Through Time, And How To Represent Its Onward Roll, As Well As All The Tributaries That Would Swell It, And The Obstacles That Would Divert It. If Only She Could Reproduce The Clear Light Of A Summer's Morning.

She Returned His Gaze, Struck By The Sense Of Her Own Transformation, And Overwhelmed By The Beauty Which A Lifetime Havit Had Taught Her To Ignore.

He Saw That No One Owned Anything Really. It's All Rented, Or Borrowed. Our Possessions Will Outlast Us, We'll Desert Them In The End.

I'm Delighted When People Respond With Passion And Readily Intensity To My Work. Literature Is Not As The Economist Would Put It A Positional Good; In Other Words, There Is Infinite Space For Good Literature.

Self-consciousness Is The Destroyer Of Erotic Joy.