And How Could Anyone Consent To Give

I Was Filled With Angst In College, That I Struggled With The Question Of My Future, The Meaning Of My Life - Spoiled Sheltered Rich Girl Collides With Great Books And Is Devastated By Her Own Banality.

Then You Must Say To Her, 'madame, I Observe That Your Heart Is Broken. Allow Me To Repair It For You.

I Keep Telling Myself I Should Try Very Hard To Write A Novel Of About 210 Pages... I Don't Seem To Be Capable Of It, But I Keep Hoping It Will Happen.

In Those Days, I Still Thoroughly Enjoyed The Romance I Called "by Myself"; I Didn't Know Yet How It Gets Lonely, Picks Up A Sharp Edge Later On That Ruins A Day Now And Then-- Ruins More Than That, If You're Not Careful.

...what Will We Someday Do, I Always Wonder, Without The Pleasures Of Turning Through Books And Stumbling On Things We Never Meant To Find?