That's Not A Thing Any

And Then She Thought That You Went On Living One Day After Another, And In Time You Were Somebody Else, Your Previous Self Only Like A Close Relative, A Sister Or Brother, With Whom You Shared A Past. But A Different Person, A Separate Life. Certainly Neither She Nor Inman Were The People They Had Been The Last Time They Were Together. And She Believed Maybe She Liked Them Both Better Now.

I'm Ruined Beyond Repair, Is What I Fear...and If So, In Time We'd Both Be Wretched And Bitter." "i Know People Can Be Mended. Not All, And Some More Immediately Than Others. But Some Can Be. I Don't See Why Not You." "why Not Me?

She Wondered If Literature Might Lose Some Of Its Interest When She Reached An Age Or State Of Mind Where Her Life Was Set On Such A Sure Course That The Things She Read Might Stop Seeming So Powerfully Like Alternate Directions For Her Being.

I Was 46 When 'cold Mountain' Came Out. I Was Settled. We Had A Nice House In Raleigh And A Horse Farm.

From My Childhood, I Remember A Tiny Old Woman Named Mary, Made Pale And Almost Translucent By Time. Mary's Childhood Memories Extended Back To The Confusing And Violent Finale Of The Civil War, And She Told Stories Of Brutal Murders In Those Days And Refused To Name Some Of The Killers, As If Dead Men Might Still Be Prosecuted In The Late 1950s.