To Be Human Is To

Literature Is The Province Of Imagination, And Stories, In Whatever Guise, Are Meditations On Life.

It Was Hard To Reassure Grown-ups When You Weren't Certain Yourself What You Were Feeling And Thinking—when Thoughts Dissolved Before You Could Name Them.

Words Are Nets Through Which All Truth Escapes.

When I Had A Few Francs, I Spent Them At A Café On The Place De Longchamps, A Block Or So From My Pension, Where I Could Order A Glass Of Beaujolais And A Plate Of String Beans In Vinaigrette For The Equivalent Of Fifteen Cents.

To Be Human Is To Be In A Story.