The Music Of The Stones Pounds The

There Are Moments When I Cannot Bear This Unremitting Consciousness. It Knows Only Itself. Awake, I Am In A Continuum With My Dreams. I Feel My Typewriters, My Table, My Chair To Have That Assurance Of A Solid World, Where Things Take Up Space, Where Is Not The Endless Emptiness Of Insubstantial Thought That Leads To Nowhere But Itself. My Memories Pale As I Prevail Upon Them Again And Again. They Become More And More Ghostly. I Fear Nothing So Much As Losing Them Altogether And Having Only My Blank Endless Mind To Live In.

Planning To Write Is Not Writing. Outlining, Researching, Talking To People About What You're Doing - None Of That Is Writing. Writing Is Writing. Writing Is Like Driving At Night In The Fog. You Can Only See As Far As Your Headlights, But You Can Make The Whole Trip That Way.

One Of The Things I Had To Learn As A Writer Was To Trust The Act Of Writing. To Put Myself In The Position Of Writing To Find Out What I Was Writing. I Did That With 'world's Fair' As With All Of Them. The Inventions Of The Book Come As Discoveries.

And So The Ordinary Unendurable Torments We All Experienced Were Indeed Exceptional In The Way They Were Absorbed In Each Heart.

We Are Able To Walk On Air, But Only As Long As Our Illusion Supports Us.