Next Week, Or Next Month,

I Hated The Mountains And The Hills, The Rivers And The Rain. I Hated The Sunsets Of Whatever Colour, I Hated Its Beauty And Its Magic And The Secret I Would Never Know. I Hated Its Indifference And The Cruelty Which Was Part Of Its Loveliness. Above All I Hated Her. For She Belonged To The Magic And The Loveliness. She Had Left Me Thirsty And All My Life Would Be Thirst And Longing For What I Had Lost Before I Found It.

I Like Shape Very Much. A Novel Has To Have Shape, And Life Doesn't Have Any.

Stephan Was Secretive And A Liar, But He Was A Very Gentle And Expert Lover. She Was The Petted, Cherished Child, The Desired Mistress, The Worshipped, Perfumed Goddess. She Was All These Things To Stephan - Or So He Made Her Believe.

He Had Discovered That People Who Allow Themselves To Be Blown About By The Winds Of Emotion And Impulse Are Always Unhappy People.

The Feeling Of Sunday Is The Same Everywhere, Heavy, Melancholy, Standing Still.