Whenever You Do Something That

The Personal, If It Is Deep Enough, Becomes Universal, Mythical, Symbolic.

We Do Not See The World As It Is. We See The Word As We Are.

The Final Lesson A Writer Learns Is That Everything Can Nourish The Writer.

But I Lie. I Embellish. My Words Are Not Deep Enough. They Disguise, They Conceal. I Will Not Rest Until I Have Told Of My Descent Into A Sensuality Which Was As Dark, As Magnificent, As Wild, As My Moments Of Mystic Creation Have Been Dazzling, Ecstatic, Exalted.

Perhaps A Child, Like A Cat, Is So Much Inside Of Himself That He Does Not See Himself In The Mirror.