Monday, July 12, 2010
I am still reading William Soutar's excellent, 'Diaries of a Dying Man'. Today I read this: "What Joyce seems to confess is that he would make flesh a word and his sensations thoughts. His world is now inside his head and his true audience is only himself." I understand that and openly confess to identifying with, "What Joyce seems to confess". What better audience can there possibly be?