I can’t fear death. I’m in love, and because I am in love, I cannot, and do not, fear death. As a writer, you cannot fear death. If you fear death, then you cannot write, though this does not necessarily mean you aren’t a writer. As I walk down the midnight back roads of Tuskegee, I encounter starved dogs, human-shaped barbarians, and chilling lullabies, but I do not fear them, you see, because I am a writer, and as a writer, I cannot, do not, and will not, fear death.
I cannot fear death. As he said, once, very well, when the fear of death creeps into your mind, you make really good love, to a truly great woman (or man), until that fear creeps back into your mind. Then you make really good love again.
“Think about it.”