From, Jim Harrison: What I've Learned, published in Esquire:

Given free rein, our imagination can get infinite. 
Unlike a lot of writers, I don't have any craving to be understood. 
I don't know if it was writer's block or if I just didn't have anything I wanted to say. 
It's overwhelming when you know Indian history. What fuckin' assholes we were for so long. 
All people disappear. 
I didn't want to die on the Warner lot. 
Has happiness changed with age? Yes, I expect less of everything. 
No conclusions on time. Other than the old beginning, middle, and end. 
You end up missing your dogs. 
What's the meaning of it all? Seems to me nobody's got a clue. Quote Jim Harrison on that: Nobody's got a clue.

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