But That’s One Advantage Of Fiction, You

How Often Do We Tell Our Own Life Story? How Often Do We Adjust, Embellish, Make Sly Cuts? And The Longer Life Goes On, The Fewer Are Those Around To Challenge Our Account, To Remind Us That Our Life Is Not Our Life, Merely The Story We Have Told About Our Life. Told To Others, But — Mainly — To Ourselves.

I’ve Always Thought You Are What You Are And You Shouldn’t Pretend To Be Anyone Else. But Oliver Used To Correct Me And Explain That You Are Whoever It Is You’re Pretending To Be.

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

You Lose The World For A Glance? Of Course You Do. That Is What The World Is For: To Lose Under The Right Circunstances.

Does History Repeat Itself, The First Time As Tragedy, The Second Time As Farce? No, That's Too Grand, Too Considered A Process. History Just Burps, And We Taste Again That Raw-onion Sandwich It Swallowed Centuries Ago.