Each Servant Stamps The Reader With A

How Funny Your Name Would Be If You Could Follow It Back To Where The First Person Thought Of Saying It, Naming Himself That, Or Maybe Some Other Persons Thought Of It And Named That Person. It Would Be Like Following A River To Its Source, Which Would Be Impossible. Rivers Have No Source.

I Don't Want To Read What Is Going To Slide Down Easily; There Has To Be Some Crunch, A Certain Amount Of Resilience.

The Facts Of History Have Been Too Well Rehearsed.

I Am Often Asked Why I Write, And I Don't Know Really--i Just Want To.

The Soul Is Not A Soul, Has No Secret, Is Small, And It Fits Its Hollow Perfectly: Its Room, Our Moment Of Attention.