The facts are always less than what really happened.
Exile as a mode of genius no longer exists; in place of Joyce we have the fragments of work appearing in Index on Censorship.
Nothing factual that I write or say will be as truthful as my fiction.
I have failed at many things, but I have never been afraid.
I'm a candle flame that sways in currents of air you can't see. You need to be the one who steadies me to burn.
Humans, the only self-regarding animals, blessed or cursed with this torturing higher faculty, have always wanted to know why.