I'm Constantly Revising. Once The

Each Work Seems To Give Me The Most Trouble At The Time I'm Working On It.

A Writer Is A Strange Instrument Of Our Species, A Harp Of Sorts, Fine-tuned To The Dark Contradictions Of Life.

It Is When You Are Angry That You Must Watch How You Talk.

In Our Time ... A Man Whose Enemies Are Faceless Bureaucrats Almost Never Wins. It Is Our Equivalent To The Anger Of The Gods In Ancient Times. But Those Gods You Must Understand Were Far More Imaginative Than Our Tiny Bureaucrats. They Spoke From Mountaintops Not From Tiny Airless Offices. They Rode Clouds. They Were Possessed Of Passion. They Had Voices And Names. Six Thousand Years Of Civilization Have Brought Us To This.

I Looked At My Right Hand, The Hand With Which I Painted. There Was Power In That Hand. Power To Create And Destroy. Power To Bring Pleasure And Pain. Power To Amuse And Horrify. There Was In That Hand The Demonic And The Divine At One And The Same Time. The Demonic And The Divine Were Two Aspects Of The Same Force. Creation Was Demonic And Divine. Creativity Was Demonic And Divine. I Was Demonic And Divine.