--nor Had I Understood Til Then How

The Secret To Living In The Rush Of The World With A Minimum Of Pain Is To Get As Many People As Possible To String Along With Your Delusions; The Trick To Living Alone Up Here, Away From All Agitating Entanglements, Allurements, And Expectations, Apart Especially From One's Own Intensity, Is To Organize The Silence, To Think Of Its Mountaintop Plenitude As Capital, Silence As Wealth Exponentially Increasing. The Encircling Silence As Your Chosen Source Of Advantage And Your Only Intimate.

He Was No More, Freed From Being, Entering Into Nowhere Without Even Knowing It. Just As He'd Feared From The Start.

'haunted By The Past' Is A Commonplace Phrase Because It's A Commonplace Experience. Even If One Is Not, Strictly Speaking, 'haunted', The Past Is Perpetually With One In The Present, And The Longer It Grows And The Further It Recedes The Stronger Its Presence Seems To Become.

I Don’t Ask Writers About Their Work Habits. I Really Don’t Care. Joyce Carol Oates Says Somewhere That When Writers Ask Each Other What Time They Start Working And When They Finish And How Much Time They Take For Lunch, They’re Actually Trying To Find Out, "is He As Crazy As I Am?" I Don’t Need That Question Answered.

The Pleasure Isn't In Owning The Person. The Pleasure Is This. Having Another Contender In The Room With You.