I Am Startled When People Are Themselves

I'm Sixty-two, And It's Ecological Sense To Die While You're Still Productive, Die And Clear A Space For Others, Old And Young.

Memory, So Complete And Clear Or So Evasive, Has To Be Ended, Has To Be Put Aside, As If One Were Leaving A Chapel And Bringing The Prayer To An End In One's Head.

I Can't Change The Past, And I Don't Think I Would. I Don't Expect To Be Understood. I Like What I've Written, The Stories And Two Novels. If I Had To Give Up What I've Written In Order To Be Clear Of This Disease, I Wouldn't Do It.

Often Writing Is Like A Struggle To Get Back To A Kind Of Belated, Quite Impure Virginity.

Athletes Have Studied How To Leap And How To Survive The Leap Some Of The Time And Return To The Ground. They Don't Always Do It Well. But They Are Our Philosophers Of Actual Moments And The Body And Soul In Them, And Of Our Maneuvers In Our Emergencies And Longings.