I Wished To Punish Her For Her

Because Of The Illusion. You Fall In Love, It's Intoxicating, And For A Little While, You Actually Feel Like You've Become One With The Other Person, Merged Souls And So On. You Think You'll Never Be Lonely Again.

Bruno, My Old Faithful. I Haven't Sufficiently Described Him. Is It Enough To Say He Is Indescribable? No. Better To Try And Fail Than Not To Try At All.

I Feel Really Strongly About Not Wanting To Overly Guide The Reader About What He Or She Should Think. I Really Trust The Reader To Know For Themselves And Not To Need Too Much. You Have Your Own Imagination, Your Own Experiences, Your Own Feelings, And A Novel Wants Ultimately To Ask Questions. It Doesn't Assert Anything, Or Shouldn't, I Think.

The Death Of Leopold Gursky Leopold Gursky Started Dying On August 18, 1920. He Died Learning To Walk. He Died Standing At The Blackboard. And Once, Also, Carrying A Heavy Tray. He Died Practicing A New Way To Sign His Name. Opening A Window. Washing His Genitals In The Bath. He Died Alone, Because He Was Too Embarrassed To Phone Anyone. Or He Died Thinking About Alma. Or When He Chose Not To.

Herman Slipped His Hand Into Mine, And I Thought, An Average Of Seventy-four Species Become Extinct Every Day, Which Was One Good Reason But Not The Only One To Hold Someone's Hand, And The Next Thing That Happened Was We Kissed Each Other, And I Found I Knew How, And I Felt Happy And Sad In Equal Parts, Because I Knew That I Was Falling In Love, But It Wasn't With Him.