When He Is Sick, Every

Nothing Lasts And Yet Nothing Passes Either, And Nothing Passes Just Because Nothing Lasts.

He Is Not Simply Looking Into The Mirror Because He Is Transfixed By What He Sees. Rather, The Artist’s Success Depends As Much As Anything On His Powers Of Detachment, On De-narcissizing Himself… Freud… Studied His Own Dreams Not Because He Was A “narcissist,” But Because He Was A Student Of Dreams. And Whose Were At Once The Least And Most Accessible Of Dreams, If Not His Own?

I Haven't Written A Word Of Fiction Since 2009. I Have No Desire To Write Fiction. I Did What I Did And It's Done. There's More To Life Than Writing And Publishing Fiction. There Is Another Way Entirely, Amazed As I Am To Discover It At This Late Date.

I Turn Sentences Around. That's My Life. I Write A Sentence And Then I Turn It Around. Then I Look At It And I Turn It Around Again. Then I Have Lunch. Then I Come Back In And Write Another Sentence. Then I Have Tea And Turn The New Sentence Around. Then I Read The Two Sentences Over And Turn Them Both Around. Then I Lie Down On My Sofa And Think. Then I Get Up And Throw Them Out And Start From The Beginning.

There's Something Every Woman Wants, And That's A Man To Blame.