All Human Existence Is A

We Live In An Age Of Rapid Mass Media, Television, Internet. They Determine Our Tempo, Not Books.

It Is Possible To Be Homesick For A Place Even When You Are There.

Why Shouldn't The Death Of A Person You Love Bring You Into Lurid Ruin? You Don't Know How To Love The One You Love Until They Disappear Abruptly. Then You Understand How Thinly Distanced From Their Suffering, How Sparing Of Self You Often Were, Only Rarely Unguarded Of Heart, Working Your Networks Of Give-and-take.

Silence, Exile, Cunning And So On... It's My Nature To Keep Quiet About Most Things. Even The Ideas In My Work.

I Think Silence Is The Condition You Accept As The Judgment On Your Crimes.