I Still Write In Long

I Don’t Know Why It Is That I Have Always Been Happier Thinking Of Somewhere I Have Been Or Wanted To Go, Than Where I Am At The Time. I Find It Difficult To Be Happy In The Present.

Writing Poetry And Reading Books Causes Brain Damage.

In Charleston, More Than Elsewhere, You Get The Feeling That The Twentieth Century Is A Vast, Unconscionable Mistake.

Rape Is A Crime Against Sleep And Memory; It's Afterimage Imprints Itself Like An Irreversible Negative From The Camera Obscura Of Dreams.

I Was Trying To Unravel The Complicated Trigonometry Of The Radical Thought That Silence Could Make Up The Greatest Lie Ever Told.