He Felt The Loyalty We

I Wish Sometimes You Had A Few Bad Motives, You Might Understand A Little More About Human Beings.

You Cannot Control What You Love--you Watch It Driving Recklessly Towards The Broken Bridge, The Torn-up Track, The Horror Of Seventy Years Ahead.

One Forgets So Quickly One's Own Youth.

Writing Is A Form Of Therapy; Sometimes I Wonder How All Those Who Do Not Write, Compose Or Paint Can Manage To Escape The Madness, Melancholia, The Panic And Fear Which Is Inherent In A Human Situation.

One Gets Started, And Then, Suddenly, One Cannot Remember What Toothpaste They Use . . . The Moment Comes When A Character Does Or Says Something You Hadn't Thought About. At That Moment He's Alive And You Leave It To Him.