We're All Time's Captives, Hostages To Eternity.

It's Only In Bad Novels That People Are Divided Into Two Camps And Have Nothing To Do With Each Other. In Real Life Everything Gets Mixed Up! Don't You Think You'd Have To Be A Hopeless Nonentity To Play Only One Role All Your Life, To Have Only One Place In Society, Always To Stand For The Same Thing?--ah, There You Are!" - Larissa Fyodorovna In Doctor Zhivago.

Oh, How One Wishes Sometimes To Escape From The Meaningless Dullness Of Human Eloquence, From All Those Sublime Phrases, To Take Refuge In Nature, Apparently So Inarticulate, Or In The Wordlessness Of Long, Grinding Labor, Of Sound Sleep, Of True Music, Or Of A Human Understanding Rendered Speechless By Emotion!

Poetry Is A Rich, Full-bodied Whistle, Cracked Ice Crunching In Pails, The Night That Numbs The Leaf, The Duel Of Two Nightingales, The Sweet Pea That Has Run Wild, Creation's Tears In Shoulder Blades.

I Have Been Writing In Spurts, Bit By Bit. It Is Incredibly Difficult. Everything Is Corroded, Broken, Dismantled; Everything Is Covered With Hardened Layers Of Accumulated Insensitivity, Deafness, Entrenched Routine. It Is Disgusting.

Immensely Grateful, Touched, Proud, Astonished, Abashed.