I Am 46, And Have Been For

There Are Moments When You Feel Free, Moments When You Have Energy, Moments When You Have Hope, But You Can't Rely On Any Of These Things To See You Through. Circumstances Do That.

Fiction Is The Great Repository Of The Moral Sense. The Wicked Get Punished.

One Loses The Capacity To Grieve As A Child Grieves, Or To Rage As A Child Rages: Hotly, Despairingly, With Tears Of Passion. One Grows Up, One Becomes Civilized, One Learns One's Manners, And Consequently Can No Longer Manage These Two Functions - Sorrow And Anger - Adequately.

I Was Brought Up Among The Sort Of Self-important Women Who Had A Husband As One Has An Alibi.

I Am Not A Romantic. I Am A Domestic Animal. I Do Not Sigh And Yearn For Extravagant Displays Of Passion, For The Grand Affair, The World Well Lost For Love. I Know All That, And Know That It Leaves You Lonely. No, What I Crave Is The Simplicity Of Routine. An Evening Walk, Arm In Arm, In Fine Weather. A Game Of Cards. Time For Idle Talk. Preparing A Meal Together.