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I Don't Know How To Sit Outside Myself And Test Against A Hypothetical Self Who Stayed Home.

I Haven't Written Anything In Four Years. I'm Sort Of Dried Up.

I Notice That Students, Particularly For Gay Students, It's Too Easy To Write About My Last Trick Or Something. It's Not Very Interesting To The Reader.

Much That Is Natural, To The Will Must Yield. Men Manufacture Both Machine And Soul, And Use What They Imperfectly Control To Dare A Future From The Taken Routes.

I Had Assumed That I Would Age With All My Friends Growing Old Around Me, Dying Off Very Gradually One By One. And Here Was A Plague That Cut Them Off So Early.