I Went From Having 50 Listeners To

“this Is Hurting Me A Lot More Than It’s Hurting You,” He Said. It Was His Standard Line, But I Knew That This Time He Was Right. Worse Than The Boil Was The Stuff That Came Out Of It. What Got To Me, And Got To Him Even Worse, Was The Stench, Which Was Unbearable, And Unlike Anything I Had Come Across Before. It Was, I Thought, What Evil Must Smell Like - Not An Evil Person But The Wicked Ideas That Have Made Him That Way. How Could A Person Continue To Live With Something So Rotten Inside? And So Much Of It!

I’d Always Been Afraid Of Sick People, And So Had My Mother. It Wasn’t That We Feared Catching Their Brain Aneurysm Or Accidentally Ripping Out Their Iv. I Think It Was Their Fortitude That Frightened Us. Sick People Reminded Us Not Of What We Had, But Of What We Lacked. Everything We Said Sounded Petty And Insignificant; Our Complaints Paled In The Face Of Theirs, And Without Our Complaints, There Was Nothing To Say.

You Need To Give The Reader A Reason To Turn The Page. In A Diary, You Are Just Yourself. You Aren't Trying To Entertain. You Aren't Trying To Get Anyone To Turn The Page. I Have Over One Hundred And Fifty Six Volumes Of My Diary And I Guarantee You That If You Read Them, You'd Stop And Never Come Back.

Up Close The City Constitutes An Oppressive Series Of Staircases, But From A Distance It Inspires Fantasies Of Wealth And Power So Profound That Even Our Communists Are Temporarily Rendered Speechless.

I've Been Keeping A Diary For Thirty-three Years And Write In It Every Morning. Most Of It's Just Whining, But Every So Often There'll Be Something I Can Use Later: A Joke, A Description, A Quote. It's An Invaluable Aid When It Comes To Winning Arguments. 'that's Not What You Said On February 3, 1996,' I'll Say To Someone.