A Light Snow, A Snow So Faint

It's Just That It's Hard To Believe In Greatness.

Age Doesn't Arrive Slowly, It Comes In A Rush. One Day Nothing Has Changed, A Week Later, Everything Has. A Week May Be Too Long A Time, It Can Happen Overnight. You Are The Same And Still The Same And Suddenly One Morning Two Distinct Lines, Ineradicable, Have Appeared At The Corners Of Your Mouth.

I Am Afraid Of Him, Of All Men Who Are Successful In Love.

I Don't Fear Death. I'm Not Obsessed With It The Way Everybody Else Seems To Be. It's Wrong To Say "everybody," But In Literature I See It All The Time - Preoccupation With It, Philosophical Preoccupation, In Fact. That's A Principle Element Of Literature And Philosophy, Often Cited As The Main Element, The Only Real Element. I Say Give It Up.

It Seems To Me That Literature Is Giving Way A Little Bit To The Immediacy Of Other Diversions, Other Forms Of Entertainment. What Will It Be In Fifty Years? I Don't Know. Will There Be Printed Books? Probably, But I'm Not Sure. There's Always Going To Be Literature, Though. I Believe That. I Think Literature Has A Way Of Getting Deep Into People And Being Essential. Literature Has Its Own Powers.