A Pier Is A Disappointed Bridge; Yet

We Live, We Die, We Are Remembered, We Are Forgotten.

To Look At Ourselves From Afar, To Make The Subjective Suddenly Objective: This Gives Us A Psychic Shock.

Memory Is Identity....you Are What You Have Done; What You Have Done Is In Your Memory; What You Remember Defines Who You Are; When You Forget Your Life You Cease To Be, Even Before Your Death.

I Remember Laughing With Relief That The Same Old Adolescent Boredom Goes On From Generation To Generation. ...the Words Took Me Back To My Own Years Of Stagnancy, And That Terrible Waiting For Life To Begin. [p. 68]

This Was Another Of Our Fears: That Life Wouldn't Turn Out To Be Like Literature.