Maybe There Are Times When

If Poets Often Commit Suicide, It Is Not Because Their Poems Are Bad But Because They Are Good. Whoever Heard Of A Bad Poet Committing Suicide? The Reader Is Only A Little Better Off. The Exhilaration Of A Good Poem Lasts Twenty Minutes, An Hour At Most. Unlike The Scientist, The Artist Has Reentry Problems That Are Frequent And Catastrophic.

Have You Noticed That Only In Time Of Illness Or Disaster Or Death Are People Real? I Remember At The Time Of The Wreck-- People Were So Kind And Helpful And Solid. Everyone Pretended That Our Lives Until That Moment Had Been Every Bit As Real As The Moment Itself And That The Future Must Be Real Too, When The Truth Was That Our Reality Had Been Purchased Only By Lyell's Death. In Another Hour Or So We Had All Faded Out Again And Gone Our Dim Ways.

It Makes People Nervous For One To Step Out Of One's Role.

If I Had The Choice Of Knowing The Truth Or Searching For The Truth, I'd Take The Search.

How Did It Happen That Now He Could See Everything So Clearly. Something Had Given Him Leave To Live In The Present. Not Once In His Entire Life Had He Come To Rest In The Quiet Center Of Himself But Had Forever Cast Himself From Some Dark Past He Could Not Remember To A Future That Did Not Exist. Not Once Had He Been Present For His Life. So His Life Had Passed Like A Dream. Is It Possible For People To Miss Their Lives The Way One Can Miss A Plane?