Your book has many strengths, precision and beauty, literary stamina and emotional certitude. This is not a memoir of grievance or regret. It asks for neither pity nor awe. It is a retrospective of a life lived for language, for free speech, for truth-telling, for meaning and purpose. There is no anger, not much, anyway. There is gratitude, particularly for all who rushed to your rescue on the stage. 'When Death comes very close to you,' you write, 'the rest of the world goes far away and you can feel a great loneliness. At such a time, kind words are comforting and strengthening.' Yes, writers have considered detachment, a cool remove, to be their smart arsenal. But in the end, detachment is good for surgeons. The really remedial act is compassion.