I Think One Of The Reasons To

She Had Always Been A Reader… But Now She Was Obsessed. Since Her Discovery Of The Book Hoard Downstairs From Her Job, She’d Been Caught Up In One Such Collection Of People And Their Doings After The Next…the Pleasure Of This Sort Of Life – Bookish, She Supposed It Might Be Called, A Reading Life – Had Made Her Isolation Into A Rich And Even Subversive Thing. She Inhabited One Consoling Or Horrifying Persona After Another…that She Was Childless And Husbandless And Poor Meant Less Once She Picked Up A Book. Her Mistakes Disappeared Into It. She Lived With An Invented Force.

Being A Girl Didn't Really Affect Me Until I Entered Junior High And Had To Wear Skirts, Curl My Hair, And Even Get Used To Panty Hose. However, My Hatred Of Panty Hose Helped Make Me A Writer Who Only Wears Comfortable Clothes. I've Successfully Avoided Panty Hose For Most Of My Life.

Love Won't Be Tampered With, Love Won't Go Away. Push It To One Side And It Creeps To The Other. Throw It In The Garbage And It Springs Up Clean. Try To Root It Out And It Only Flourishes. Love Is A Weed, A Dandelion That You Poison From Your Heart. The Taproots Wait. The Seeds Blow Off, Ticklish, Into A Part Of The Yard You Didn't Spray. And One Day, Though You Worked, Though You Prodded Out Each Spiky Leaf, You Lift Your Eyes And Dozens Of Fat Golden Faces Bob In The Grass.

The Universe Is Transformation.

Life Will Break You. Nobody Can Protect You From That.