Shakespeare would seem to have been a person for whom the human voice/personality in all its splendid idiosyncrasy was absolutely enthralling.

For obviously the advantage for most writers is that no one sees them. The writer is invisible, which confers power.

It would be difficult for a writer of realism to avoid suggesting a political/moral perspective in his or her fiction. "Politics" per se is absent from my writing but there is usually a moral (if ironic) compass.

A man will reveal his true self, or so it seems, on the tennis court.

I am the presence standing here at this juncture of Time & Space- who else?

Paradox: how do we know what we have failed to see because we have no language to express it, thus we cannot know that we have failed to see it.

For what are the words with which to summarize a lifetime, so much crowded confused happiness terminated by such stark slow-motion pain?