Perhaps if you know you are insane then you are not insane. Or you are becoming sane, finally.

And of course, in my writing, there is the constant theme of music, love of, preoccupation with, music. Music is the single thread making my life into a coherency.

Activity does not necessarily mean life. Quasars are active. And a monk meditating is not inanimate.

But an artist, he realized. Or rather so-called artist. Bohemian. That's closer to it. The artistic life without the talent.

The wisest people are the clowns, like Harpo Marx, who would not speak. If I could have anything I want I would like God to listen to what Harpo was not saying, and understand why Harpo would not talk.

Truth, she thought. As terrible as death. But harder to find.

Reality denied comes back to haunt.