In The Past 30 Years, Officials Of

We Speak Of Facts, Yet Facts Exist Only Partially To Us If They Are Not Repeated And Re-created Through Emotions, Thoughts And Feelings. To Me It Seemed As If We Had Not Really Existed, Or Only Half Existed, Because We Could Not Imaginatively Realize Ourselves And Communicate To The World, Because We Had Used Works Of Imagination To Serve As Handmaidens To Some Political Ploy.

Imagine You Are Walking Down A Leafy Path...the Sun Is Receding, And You Are Walking Alone, Caressed By The Breezy Light Of The Late Afternoon. Then Suddenly, You Feel A Large Drop On Your Right Arm. Is It Raining? You Look Up. The Sky Is Still Deceptively Sunny...seconds Later Another Drop. Then, With The Sun Still Perched In The Sky, You Are Drenched In A Shower Of Rain. This Is How Memories Invade Me, Abruptly And Unexpectedly.

Lots Of Times You Can Feel As An Exile In A Country That You Were Born In.

If I Turned Towards Books, It Was Because They Were The Only Sanctuary I Knew, One I Needed In Order To Survive, To Protect Some Aspect Of Myself That Was Now In Constant Retreat.

You Get A Strange Feeling When You're About To Leave A Place, I Told Him, Like You'll Not Only Miss The People You Love But You'll Miss The Person You Are Now At This Time And This Place, Because You'll Never Be This Way Ever Again.