And Even When I Was Broken The

The Horse Could Not Do Without Manhattan. It Drew Him Like A Magnet, Like A Vacuum, Like Oats, Or A Mare, Or An Open, Never-ending, Tree-lined Road.

She Died On A Windy Gray Day In March When The Sky Was Full Of Darting Crows And The World Lay Prostrate And Defeated After Winter. Peter Lake Was At Her Side And It Ruined Him Forever. It Broke Him As He Had Not Ever Imagined He Could Have Been Broken. He Would Never Again Be Young, Or Able To Remember What It Was Like To Be Young. What He Had Once Taken To Be Pleasures Would Appear To Him In His Defeat As Hideous And Deserved Punishments For Reckless Vanity.

As Long As You Have Life And Breath, Believe. Believe For Those Who Cannot. Believe Even If You Have Stopped Believing. Believe For The Sake Of The Dead, For Love, To Keep Your Heart Beating, Believe. Never Give Up, Never Despair, Let No Mystery Confound You Into The Conclusion That Mystery Cannot Be Yours.

He Could Say Nothing. He Had No Right To Be There, He Had Already Been Profoundly Changed, He Was No Good At Small Talk, She Was Half Naked, It Was Dawn And He Loved Her.

A Lot Of People Hate Heroes. I Was Criticized For Portraying People Who Are Brave, Honest, Loving, Intelligent. That Was Called Weak And Sentimental. People Who Dismiss All Real Emotion As Sentimentality Are Cowards. They’re Afraid To Commit Themselves, And So They Remain ‘cool’ For The Rest Of Their Lives, Until They’re Dead—then They’re Really Cool.