No Mere Human Can Stand In A

Autobiographies Tell More Lies Than All But The Most Self-indulgent Fiction.

…my Solitude Is My Treasure, The Best Thing I Have.

I Like Feeling My Way Into Different Minds And Experiences. It Comes Naturally And Always Has.

He Felt Changed, But There Was No One To Tell.

Do I Do As False Prophets Do And Puff Air Into Simulacra? Am I A Sorcerer--like Macbeth's Witches--mixing Truth And Lies In Incandescent Shapes? Or Am I A Kind Of Very Minor Scribe Of A Prophetic Book--telling Such Truth As In Me Lies, With Aid Of Such Fiction As I Acknowledge Mine, As Prospero Acknowledged Caliban.