Nothing In The Real World

I Am Worrying About My Country. I Feel I Have A Responsibility As A Novelist To Do Something.

Forgive Me For Stating The Obvious, But The World Is Made Up Of All Kinds Of People.

Reality Was Utterly Coolheaded And Utterly Lonely.

Time, Of Course, Topples Everyone In Its Path Equally- The Way That Driver Beats His Old Horse Until It Dies. But The Thrashing We Receive Is One Of Frightful Gentleness. Few Of Us Even Realize That We Are Being Beaten.

Time Is Too Conceptual. Not That It Stops Us From Filling It In. So Much So, We Can't Even Tell Whether Our Experiences Belong To Time Or To The World Of Physical Things.