At The Time I Did Not Know

The Hardest Thing Usually To Leave Behind, As Was The Case Now, Can Loosely Be Called The Conscience.

The Nearest Anyone Can Come To Finding Himself At Any Given Age Is To Find A Story That Somehow Tells Him About Himself.

Help Is Giving Part Of Yourself To Somebody Who Comes To Accept It Willingly And Needs It Badly.

Probably Most Catastrophes End This Way Without An Ending, The Dead Not Even Knowing How They Died...,those Who Loved Them Forever Questioning "this Unnecessary Death," And The Rest Of Us Tiring Of This Inconsolable Catastrophe And Turning To The Next One.

I Had As Yet No Notion That Life Every Now And Then Becomes Literature—not For Long, Of Course, But Long Enough To Be What We Best Remember, And Often Enough So That What We Eventually Come To Mean By Life Are Those Moments When Life, Instead Of Going Sideways, Backwards, Forward, Or Nowhere At All, Lines Out Straight, Tense And Inevitable, With A Complication, Climax, And, Given Some Luck, A Purgation, As If Life Had Been Made And Not Happened.