And I, stepping from this skin Of old bandages, boredoms, old faces Step to you from the black car of Lethe, Pure as a baby.

How many different deaths I can die?

…beating time along the edge of thought.

I think writers are the most narcissistic people. Well, I musn't say this, I like many of them, a great many of my friends are writers.

I keep wanting to crawl back into the womb.

There was a beautiful time.

And I identify too closely with my reading, with my writing.