Even if I knew nothing would emerge from his book I would still write it. It seems to me that different organisms must have their separate ways of symbolizing, with sound or gesture, the creative joy – the flowering. And if this is so, men also must have their separate ways – some to laugh and some to build, some to destroy and yes, some even creatively to destroy themselves. There’s no explaining this. The joy thing in me has two outlets: one a fine charge of love toward the incredibly desirable body and sweetness of woman, and second – mostly both – the paper and pencil or pen.