I'm Forty-nine But I Could

I Believe - I Know (there Are Not Many Things I Should Care To Dogmatize About, On The Subject Of Writing) That Writers Need Solitude, And Seek Alienation Of A Kind Every Day Of Their Working Lives. (and Remember, They Are Not Even Aware When And When Not They Are Working.) ... The Tension Between Standing Apart And Being Fully Involved; That Is What Makes A Writer.

Perhaps There Is No Other Way Of Reaching Some Understanding Of Being Than Through Art? Writers Themselves Don't Analyze What They Do; To Analyze Would Be To Look Down While Crossing A Canyon On A Tightrope. To Say This Is Not To Mystify The Process Of Writing But To Make An Image Out Of The Intense Inner Concentration The Writer Must Have To Cross The Chasms Of The Aleatory And Make Them The Word's Own, As An Explorer Plants A Flag.

People Give One Another Things That Can't Be Gift Wrapped.

What A Writer Does Is To Try To Make Sense Of Life. I Think That's What Writing Is, I Think That's What Painting Is. It's Seeking That Thread Of Order And Logic In The Disorder, And The Incredible Waste And Marvelous Profligate Character Of Life. What All Artists Are Trying To Do Is To Make Sense Of Life.

I Decided That I Wanted Nothing To Do With South African Government Television While Any Of My Fellow Writers Were Banned And Couldn't Speak Publicly.