A Childhood Is What Anyone

The Larger Loneliness Of Our Lives Evolves From Our Unwillingness To Spend Ourselves, Stir Ourselves. We Are Always Damping Down Our Inner Weather, Permitting Ourselves The Comforts Of Postponement, Of Rehearsals

This Is Why I Read Novels: So I Can Escape My Own Unrelenting Monologue.

The Recounting Of A Life Is A Cheat...even Our Own Stories Are Obscenely Distorted.

Words Are Our Life. We Are Human Because We Use Language. So I Think We Are Less Human When We Use Less Language.

Nothing She Did Or Said Was Quite What She Meant But Still Her Life Could Be Called A Monument Shaped In A Slant Of Available Light And Set To The Movement Of Possible Music