Sleep Is Uncanny, I Have

You Will Remember This When All Else Fades, This Moment, Here, Together, By This Well. There Will Be Certain Days, And Certain Nights, You’ll Feel My Presence Near You, Hear My Voice. You’ll Think You Have Imagined It And Yet, Inside You, You Will Catch An Answering Cry. On April Evenings, When The Rain Has Ceased, Your Heart Will Shake, You’ll Weep For Nothing, Pine For What’s Not There. For You, This Life Will Never Be Enough, There Will Forever Be An Emptiness, Where Once The God Was All In All In You.

How Flat All Sounds Are At The Seaside, Flat And Yet Emphatic, Like The Sound Of Gunshots Heard At A Distance.

The Effect Of Prizes On One's Career - If That Is What To Call It - Is Considerable, Since They Give One More Clout With Publishers And More Notoriety Among Journalists. The Effect On One's Writing, However, Is Nil - Otherwise, One Would Be In Deep Trouble.

Art Is Amoral, Whether We Accept This Or Not; It Does Not Take Sides. The Finest Fictions Are Cold At Heart.

Life Is Tragic But It's Equally Comic.