We live by tunnelling for we are people buried alive. To me, the tunnels you make will seem strangely aimless, uprooted orchids. But the fragrance is undying. A Little Boy has run away from Amherst a few Days ago, writes Emily Dickinson in a letter of 1883, and when asked where he was going replied, Vermont or Asia.
“The only moments in life when I’m 100 percent happy, almost deliriously happy, is when I’m writing, so that there is this feeling of creation of what you can do with words, this joy when you hit on something. Well, I know what Freud would say about all this, but that doesn’t worry me. I’m just very happy when I’m writing.”
Christine Brooke-Rose