There Are Certain Pieces Of Music That

I Cry A Lot Because I Miss People. They Die And I Can't Stop Them. They Leave Me And I Love Them More.

Then One Day My Sister Abandoned Me At The 1939 World's Fair, And That Incident Is The Essence Of In The Night Kitchen. I Was Standing There With Hundreds Of Other People Waving Back At The Little Midgets Dressed Like Bakers When I Turned Around And My Sister Was Gone! The Next Thing I Know I'm Screaming And Crying And Policemen Are Taking Me To A Big Place With Tons Of Kids Who Had All Been Abandoned Like Me. At Least I Was Old Enough To Give Them A Name And An Address.

And The Wild Things Roared Their Terrible Roars And Gnashed Their Terrible Teeth And Rolled Their Terrible Eyes And Showed Their Terrible Claws.

I Was Sickly As A Child And Gravitated To Books And Drawing. During My Early Teen Years, I Spent Hundreds Of Hours At My Window, Sketching Neighborhood Children At Play. I Sketched And Listened, And Those Notebooks Became The Fertile Field Of My Work Later On. There Is Not A Book I Have Written Or A Picture I Have Drawn That Does Not, In Some Way, Owe Them Its Existence.

As A Child, I Felt That Books Were Holy Objects, To Be Caressed, Rapturously Sniffed, And Devotedly Provided For. I Gave My Life To Them. I Still Do. I Continue To Do What I Did As A Child; Dream Of Books, Make Books And Collect Books.