The Enemy Of A Love

Why Do I Doubt Her? Perhaps She Is Just Very Sensitive, And Hypersensitive People Are False When Others Doubt Them; They Waver. And One Thinks Them Insincere. Yet I Want To Believe Her. At The Same Time It Does Not Seem So Very Important That She Should Love Me. It Is Not Her Role. I Am So Filled With My Love Of Her. And At The Same Time I Feel That I Am Dying. Our Love Would Be Death. The Embrace Of Imaginings.

Secrets. Need To Disguise. The Novel Was Born Of This.

Had I Not Created My Whole World, I Would Certainly Have Died In Other People’s.

Jazz Is The Expression Of America's Romantic Self, Its Sensual Potency, Its Lyrical Force.

The Love Of Only One Man Or One Woman Is An Enclosure.