Listening at the keyhole
Every writer is a man with one deaf ear and one blind eye, who is possessed by a demon and unteachable by anybody but himself; a man who only half hears and half sees the world around him because for half his time he is absorbedly listening at the keyhole to his own Demon, examining with satisfaction his primordial shadow.
If once the boy within us ceases to speak to the man who enfolds him, the shape of life is broken and there is, literally, no more to be said. I think that if my life has had any shape it is this. I have gone on listening and remembering. It is your shape, O my youth, O my country. O pallid clouds. O caverns of green. O rumbling river. O whispering shell.