If they give you lined paper, write the other way.

Afraid lest he be caught up in a net of words tripped up, bewildered and so defeated - thrown aside - a man hesitates to write down his innermost convictions.

In the imagination, we are from henceforth (so long as you read) locked in a fraternal embrace, the classic caress of author and reader.

This is where the difficulty lies. We are lucky when that underground current can be tapped and the secret spring of all our lives will send up its pure water. It seldom happens. A thousand trivialities push themselves to the front, our lying habits of everyday speech and thought are foremost, telling us that that is what "they" want to hear. Tell them something else.

Nothing whips my blood like verse.

My life looked good on paper - where, in fact, almost all of it was being lived.