A Story ... Has A Sturdy Sense

I Despised Their Antics Because I Took Life Seriously And Had A Much More Lofty And Tender Notion Of Romance. But I Would Have Liked To Get Their Attention Just The Same.

His Face Contained For Me All Possibilities Of Fierceness And Sweetness, Pride And Submissiveness, Violence, Self-containment. I Never Saw More In It Than I Had When I Saw It First, Because I Saw Everything Then. The Whole Thing In Him That I Was Going To Love, And Never Catch Or Explain.

I Saw How The Forms Of Love Might Be Maintained With A Condemned Person But With The Love In Fact Measured And Disciplined, Because You Have To Survive. It Could Be Done So Discreetly That The Object Of Such Care Would Not Suspect, Any More Than She Would Suspect The Sentence Of Death Itself.

And Did I Not Think Then, What Nonsense It Is To Suppose One Man So Different From Another When All That Life Really Boils Down To Is Getting A Decent Cup Of Coffee And Room To Stretch Out In?

Writing Is Hard, But The More You Write, And Enjoy What You Write, The Better It Gets.