I am my own Universe, I my own Professor.
I see the mind of a 5-year-old as a volcano with two vents: destructiveness and creativeness.
When love turns away, now, I don't follow it. I sit and suffer, unprotesting, until I feel the tread of another step.
I've got to relearn what I was supposed to have learned.
The truth is that I am enslaved . . . in one vast love affair with 70 children.