Someone watches over us when we write. Mother. Teacher. Shakespeare. God. - Martin Amis

Only in art will the lion lie down with the lamb, and the rose grow without thorn.

The smocked chick fingered my hair and said in her stupid voice, 'You're receding.' 'We all are,' I said. We all are. We are all receding — waving or beckoning or just kissing our fingertips, we are all fading, shrinking, paling. Life is all losing, we are all losing, losing mother, father, youth, hair, looks, teeth, friends, lovers, shape, reason, life. We are losing, losing, losing. Take life away. It's too hard, too difficult. We aren't any good at it. Try us out on something else. But shelve life. Take life off the stands. It's too fucking difficult and we aren't any good at it.

Because we are all poets or babies in the middle of the night, struggling with being.