With the waning of everything, with the waning of the sexual drive, the witch capacity, there probably goes a certain lessening of artistic passion. I suppose I feel that in my own work. The world would really be none the worse if I were not to write anymore. But I keep wanting to do it, in part to fill the time. I don't know what you've found, but nothing makes the time pass so much as writing. You look up, and two hours have gone by! You know? It's a wonderful antidote to boredom or dullness.