No matter how wild reality was obviously often being, it was an absolutely secure place, as a tone and intelligence, and a thing happening.

No matter how wild reality was obviously often being, it was an absolutely secure place, as a tone and intelligence, and a thing happening.

Suddenly the whole imagination of writing and editorial and newspaper and all these presumptions about who am I reading this, and who else other people may be, and all that, it's so grimly brutal!

What has happened makes the world. Live on the edge, looking.

I don’t think any man writing can worry about what the act of writing costs him, even though at times he is very aware of it.

The pattern of the narrative never of necessity wants to end, it never has to.

Love, if you love me, lie next to me. Be for me, like rain, the getting out of the tiredness, the fatuousness, the semi- lust of intentional indifference. Be wet with a decent happiness.