I Would Be Far More Critical Than

The Secret Of Survival Is A Defective Imagination.

I'm A Hopeless 19th-century Romantic.

If They Give Me The Bloody Prize, Why Can't They Say Nice Things About Me?

I Would Be Far More Critical Than Any Reviewer Could Be Of My Own Work. So I Simply Don't Read Them.

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.