Everything I've stated may prove to be total poppycock.... Perhaps time will tell. Perhaps time will do nothing of the kind.

There is a world inside the world.

He thinks he's happy but it's just a nerve cell in his brain that's getting too much stimulation or too little stimulation.

These are the days after. Everything now is measured by after.

It's true that some of us become better writers by living long enough. But this is also how we become worse writers. The trick is to die in between.

Writing is a concentrated form of thinking...a young writer sees that with words he can place himself more clearly into the world. Words on a page, that's all it takes to help him separate himself from the forces around him, streets and people and pressures and feelings. He learns to think about these things, to ride his own sentences into new perceptions.

A person rises on a word and falls on a syllable.