Madame....gloatingly Savored Her Words As

I Would Like To Carve My Novel In A Piece Of Wood.

I Am At Home Everywhere, And Nowhere. I Am Never A Stranger And I Never Quite Belong.

I'm A Bit Like A Sponge. When I'm Not Writing I Absorb Life Like Water. When I Write I Squeeze The Sponge A Little - And Out Comes, Not Water But Ink.

It Was Night And I Could See A Large And Calm Lake, Reflecting The Moon. Black Mountains Rose Around It. I Arrived From Between Two Of These Mountains, I Looked At The Lake And The Moon, And That Was It, Nothing Else Happened.

The Place Smelled Of Fairgrounds, Of Lazy Crowds, Of Nights When You Stayed Out Because You Couldn't Go To Bed, And It Smelled Like New York, Of Its Calm And Brutal Indifference.