I Voluntarily Inflicted A Certain Level Of

Readers And Writers Are United In Their Need For Solitude, In Their Pursuit Of Substance In A Time Of Ever-increasing Evanescence: In Their Reach Inward, Via Print, For A Way Out Of Loneliness.

Depression Presents Itself As A Realism Regarding The Rottenness Of The World In General And The Rottenness Of Your Life In Particular.

When You Stay In Your Room And Rage Or Sneer Or Shrug Your Shoulders, As I Did For Many Years, The World And Its Problems Are Impossibly Daunting. But When You Go Out And Put Yourself In Real Relation To Real People, Or Even Just Real Animals, There’s A Very Real Danger That You Might End Up Loving Some Of Them. And Who Knows What Might Happen To You Then?

When I Was Younger, The Main Struggle Was To Be A 'good Writer.' Now I More Or Less Take My Writing Abilities For Granted, Although This Doesn't Mean I Always Write Well.

He Became Another Data Point In The American Experiment Of Self-government, An Experiment Statistically Skewed From The Outset, Because It Wasn't The People With Sociable Genes Who Fled The Crowded Old World For The New Continent; It Was The People Who Didn't Get Along Well With Others.