The Most Stable Elements, Clarice, Appear In

You Must Understand That When You Are Writing A Novel You Are Not Making Anything Up. It's All There And You Just Have To Find It.

We Rarely Get To Prepare Ourselves In Meadows Or On Graveled Walks; We Do It On Short Notice In Places Without Windows, Hospital Corridors, Rooms Like This Lounge With Its Cracked Plastic Sofa And Cinzano Ashtrays, Where The Cafe Curtains Cover Blank Concrete. In Rooms Like This, With So Little Time, We Prepare Our Gestures, Get Them By Heart So We Can Do Them When We're Frightened In The Face Of Doom.

Over This Odd World, This Half The World That's Dark Now, I Have To Hunt A Thing That Lives On Tears.

What Do You Look At While You’re Making Up Your Mind? Ours Is Not A Reflective Culture, We Do No Raise Our Eyes Up To The Hills. Most Of The Time We Decide The Critical Things While Looking At The Linoleum Floor Of An Institutional Corridor, Or Whispering Hurriedly In A Waiting Room With A Television Blatting Nonsense.

How Seldom We Recognize The Sound When The Bolt Of Our Fate Slides Home.