"but this is what a writer does: his life is a maelstrom of lying. embellishment is his focal point. this is what we do to please others. this is what we do in order to flee ourselves. a writer’s physical life is basically one of stasis, and to combat this constraint, an opposite world and another self have to be constructed daily. the problem that i encountered that morning was that i needed to compose the peaceful alternative to the terror of last night, yet the half world of the writer’s life encourages drama and pain, and defeat is good for art: if it is day we made it night, if it was love we made it hate, serenity became chaos, kindness became viciousness, god became the devil, a daughter became a whore."
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