I Read A Book Called The Art

She Would Live Now, Not Read.

He Never Wanted To Be Away From Her. She Had The Spark Of Life.

Luck Took Me Right Out Of Myself - I Read It In One Gulp, And It Never Let Me Down. Sharp And Surprising But Always Responsible, No Tricks For Tricks' Sake; So Satisfying, With Its Shifting And Puzzles. So Much Fiction Turns Out To Be Diversion, In Spite Of Fancy Claims, And Doesn't Really Look At Anything. Well - This Does.

Now That I Think Of It, She Looked Splendid. I Wish I Had Met Her Somewhere Else. I Wish I Had Appreciated Her As She Deserved. I Wish That Everything Had Gone Differently.

The Skin Of Everyday Appearances Stretched Over Such Shamelessness, Such Consuming Explosions Of Lust.