All my life I had wanted to be a writer and now I had my chance and it wouldn't come. There were no bullrings and boxing matches or young senoritas. There weren't even any insights. I was fucked. I couldn't get the word down and they'd backed me into a corner. Well, all you had to do was die. But I'd always imagined it differently. I mean, the writing. Maybe it was the Leslie Howard movie. Or reading about the life of Hemingway or D. H. Lawrence. Or Jeffers. You could get started writing in all sorts of different ways. And then you wrote a while. And met some of the writers. The good ones and the bad ones. And they all had tinkertoy souls. You knew it when you got into a room with them. There was only one great writer every 500 years, and you weren't the one, and they most certainly weren't the ones. We were fucked.(c)Bukowski