Not to want to say, not to know what you want to say, not to be able to say what you think you want to say, and never to stop saying, or hardly ever, that is the thing to keep in mind, even in the heat of composition.
You're a beautiful boy,/
With all your little toys,/
Your eyes have seen the world,/
Though your only four years old,/
And your tears are streaming,/
Even when your smiling,/
Please never be afraid to cry,
What I am going to write is the last of what I have to say. I will say that literature is the only consciousness we possess and that its role as consciousness must inform us of our ability to comprehend the hideous danger of nuclear power.