I Feel As If I'm

The Figure Of My Father Looms Large In My Imagination.

I Guess My Life Hasn’t Always Been Happy, Or Easy, Or Exactly What I Want. At A Certain Point, I Just Have To Try Not To Think Too Much About Certain Things, Or Else They’ll Break My Heart.

The Problem Was Money And The Indignities Of Life Without It. Every Stroller, Cell Phone, Yankees Cap, And Suv He Saw Was A Torment. He Wasn't Covetous, He Wasn't Envious. But Without Money He Was Hardly A Man.

Imagine That Human Existence Is Defined By An Ache: The Ache Of Our Not Being, Each Of Us, The Center Of The Universe; Of Our Desires Forever Outnumbering Our Means Of Satisfying Them.

Every Good Writer I Know Needs To Go Into Some Deep, Quiet Place To Do Work That Is Fully Imagined. And What The Internet Brings Is Lots Of Vulgar Data. It Is The Antithesis Of The Imagination. It Leaves Nothing To The Imagination.