The luxury of having your possessions around you, long alienated from the road. I see my books and they almost don’t seem to know me. It’s good to know you can live without your library, or that I can, having been, before this year, as attached to it as to any of my limbs. But I don’t particularly want to go on living without it.

I’ve been rereading some old friends since coming back to Menlo Park, including, with great delight and familiarity, the old proverbs from Blake’s MARRIAGE OF HEAVEN AND HELL. This book knows me, at least, because it was my play once. What an amazing show that was to work on. What a ride.

Sometimes I wish I could ask Blake where I should go next, what do next, but I know what he’d say:

What is now proved was once only imagin’d.