"There were times when reading Cendrars-and this is something which happens to me rarely-that I put the book down in order to wring my hands with joy or despair, with anguish or with desperation. Cendrars has stopped me in my tracks again and again, just as implacably as a gunman pressing a rod against one’s spine. Oh, yes, I am often carried away by exaltation in reading a man’s work. But I am alluding now to something other than exaltation. I am talking of a sensation in which all one’s emotions are blended and confused. I am talking of knockout blows. Cendrars has knocked me cold. Not once, but a number of times. And I am not exactly a ham, when it comes to taking it on the chin! Yes, mon cher Cendrars, you not only stopped me, you stopped the clock. It has taken me days, weeks, sometimes months, to recover from these bouts with you. Even years later,I can put my hand to the spot where I caught the blow and feel the old smart. You battered and bruised me; you left me scarred, dazed, punch-drunk. The curious thing is that the better I know you-through your books-the more susceptible I become. It is as if you had put the indian sign on me. I cam forward with chin outstretched-"to take it". I am your meat, as I have so often said. And it is because I believe I am not unique in this, because I wish others to enjoy this uncommon experience, that I continue to put in my word for you whenever, wherever, I can”
-Henry Miller
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