We loved each other with a premature love, marked by a fierceness that so often destroys adult lives.

Look at this tangle of thorns.

Coordinating there Events and objects with remote events And vanished objects. Making ornaments Of accidents and possibilities.

We live not only in a world of thoughts, but also in a world of things. Words without experience are meaningless.

There are some varieties of fiction that I never touch - mystery stories, for instance, which I abhor, and historical novels. I also detest the so-called "powerful" novel - full of commonplace obscenities and torrents of dialog.

Freudism and all it has tainted with its grotesque implications and methods, appear to me to be one of the vilest deceits practiced by people on themselves and on others. I reject it utterly, along with a few other medieval items still adored by the ignorant, the conventional, or the very sick.

It is hard, I submit, to loathe bloodshed, including war, more than I do, but it is still harder to exceed my loathing of the very nature of totalitarian states in which massacre is only an administrative detail.