To be born a writer, one must learn to like privation, suffering, humiliation. Above all, one must learn to live apart. Like the sloth, the writer clings to his limb while beneath him life surges by steady, persistent, tumultuous. When ready, plop! he fall into the stream and battles for life. Is it not something like that?
Henry Miller, Nexus (The Rosy Crucifixion
Below is a fragment from the novel, stored in Big Sur, California, courtesy of ManhattanRareBooks. More images available on ManhattanRareBooks website.
