We write to taste life twice…in the moment and in retrospection.
Those few moments of communion with the world are worth the pain. Writing is worth it for others. It’s an inheritance for others. A gift to others in the end.
One has to create a world in which to live. I could not live in any of the worlds offered to me. The world of my parents. The world of war. The world of politics. I had to create a world of my own. A climate. A country. An atmosphere in which I could breathe.
We write to heighten our own awareness of life. To lure, enchant and console others. To serenade lovers.
The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say.