To Anyone Who Is Homeless, I Say,

I Lived Rough, By My Wits, Was Homeless, Lived On The Streets, Lived On Friends' Floors, Was Happy, Was Miserable.

Wholeness Is The Enemy Of The Artist. We Ought To Be Broken, Ruined In Some Way.

I Went To London Because, For Me, It Was The Home Of Literature. I Went There Because Of Dickens And Shakespeare.

Our Time Here Is Magic! It's The Only Space You Have To Realize Whatever It Is That Is Beautiful, Whatever Is True, Whatever Is Great, Whatever Is Potential, Whatever Is Rare, Whatever Is Unique, In. It's The Only Space.

Without Stories We Would Go Mad. Life Would Lose Its Moorings Or Lose Its Orientations. Even In Silence We Are Living Our Stories