There Is No Truth. Only

My Temper Is Not Spoilt. I Am Absolutely Non-homicidal. Nor Do I Ever Attack Unless I Have Been Attacked First, And Then Heaven Have Mercy Upon The Attacker, Because I Don't! I Just Sharpen My Wits On A Wooden Head As A Cat Sharpens Its Claws On The Wood Legs Of A Table.

Virginia Woolf's Writing Is No More Than Glamorous Knitting. I Believe She Must Have A Pattern Somewhere.

I Have Never, In All My Life, Been So Odious As To Regard Myself As 'superior' To Any Living Being, Human Or Animal. I Just Walked Alone - As I Have Always Walked Alone.

The Last Faint Spark In The Self-murdered Heart, The Wounds Of The Sad Uncomprehending Dark, The Wounds Of The Baited Bear,-- The Blind And Weeping Bear Whom The Keepers Beat On His Helpless Flesh . . . The Tears Of The Hunted Hare.

My Personal Hobbies Are Reading, Listening To Music, And Silence.