I Think The Story Is My Form.

I Am Married To Someone I Love.

While Reading Writers Of Great Formulatory Power — Henry James, Santayana, Proust — I Find I Can Scarcely Get Through A Page Without Having To Stop To Record Some Lapidary Sentence. Reading Henry James, For Example, I Have Muttered To Myself, "c’mon, Henry, Turn Down The Brilliance A Notch, So I Can Get Some Reading Done." I May Be One Of A Very Small Number Of People Who Have Developed Writer’s Cramp While Reading.

We Do Not Choose To Be Born.we Do Not--most Of Us, Choose To Die, Or The Times Or Conditions Of Our Death. But Within All This Realm Of Choicelessness, We Do Choose How We Shall Live--courageously Or In Cowardice, Honorably Or Dishonorably, With Purpose Or Adrift. We Decide What Is Important And What Is Trivial. What Makes Us Significant Is What We Do, Or Refuse To Do. We Decide And We Choose--and So We Give Definition To Our Lives.

Of The Seven Deadly Sins, Only Envy Is No Fun At All.

We Who Are Quotatious Are Never Truly Alone, But Always Hear The Cheerful Flow Of Remarks Made By Dead Writers So Much More Intelligent Than We.