Pain Hardens, And Great Pain Hardens Greatly,

I Don't Think It Is An Easy Thing To Write And Expect To Be Commercial, Even If You Are From Venus And A Hermaphrodite.

Do I Do As False Prophets Do And Puff Air Into Simulacra? Am I A Sorcerer--like Macbeth's Witches--mixing Truth And Lies In Incandescent Shapes? Or Am I A Kind Of Very Minor Scribe Of A Prophetic Book--telling Such Truth As In Me Lies, With Aid Of Such Fiction As I Acknowledge Mine, As Prospero Acknowledged Caliban.

Our Days Weave Together The Simple Pleasures Of Daily Life, Which We Should Never Take For Granted, And The Higher Pleasures Of Art And Thought Which We May Now Taste As We Please, With None To Forbid Or Criticise.

…my Solitude Is My Treasure, The Best Thing I Have.

I'd Like To Write The Way Matisse Paints.