If You Can Delude Yourself By Believing

I Don't Want To Achieve Immortality Through My Work; I Want To Achieve Immortality Through Not Dying. I Don't Want To Live On In The Hearts Of My Countrymen; I Want To Live On In My Apartment.

It's A Wonderful Thing To Be Able To Create Your Own World Whenever You Want To. Writing Is Very Pleasurable, Very Seductive, And Very Therapeutic. Time Passes Very Fast When I'm Writing-really Fast. I'm Puzzling Over Something, And Time Just Flies By. It's An Exhilarating Feeling. How Bad Can It Be? It's Sitting Alone With Fictional Characters. You're Escaping From The World In Your Own Way And That's Fine. Why Not?

Until You've Been Kissed On A Rainy Parisian Afternoon - You've Never Been Kissed.

That’s One Of The Nice Things About Writing, Or Any Art; If The Thing’s Real, It Just Lives. All The Attendant Hoopla About It, The Success Over It Or The Critical Rejection—none Of That Really Matters. In The End, The Thing Will Survive Or Not On Its Own Merits. Not That Immortality Via Art Is Any Big Deal. Truffaut Died, And We All Felt Awful About It, And There Were The Appropriate Eulogies, And His Wonderful Films Live On. But It’s Not Much Help To Truffaut.

We Knew The Front Door Was Always Left Open, But We Broke In Just To Keep In Practice. Doxy Turned All The Washburn Family Photos To The Wall So There Wouldn't Be Any Witnesses.