It Is Because I Dove

Even Great Men Are Only Truly Recognized And Honored Once They Are Dead. Why? Because Those Who Praise Them Need To Feel Themselves Somehow Superior To The Person Praised, They Need To Feel They Are Making Some Concession.

I Write As If To Save Somebody’s Life. Probably My Own. Life Is A Kind Of Madness That Death Makes. Long Live The Dead Because We Live In Them.

No It Is Not Easy To Write. It Is As Hard As Breaking Rocks. Sparks And Splinters Fly Like Shattered Steel.

I Work Only With Lost And Founds.

At First She Dreamed Of Sheep, Of Going To School, Of Cats Drinking Milk. Little By Little She Dreamed Of Blue Sheep, Of Going To School In The Middle Of The Woods, Of Cats Drinking Milk From Golden Saucers. And Her Dreams Became Increasingly Dense And Acquired Colours That Were Difficult To Dilute Into Words.