. . . I Would Have Let

What Is Literature, Really? Boiled Down To A Single Sentence, I'd Say It's This: An Endless Conversation About What It Means To Be Human. And To Read Literature Is To Engage In That Conversation.

I Think A Lot Of The Questions - Questioning Reality And The Self And The Desire To Change, To Me Are Always At The Heart Of Life. No Matter How Old You Are, To Me Life Is Always About Changing And Growing And Discovering And That's Not Always Easy.

He Wondered If What He Had Taken For The Richness Of Silence Was Really The Poverty Of Never Being Heard [...]. How Could He Have Forgotten What He Had Always Known: There Is No Match For The Silence Of God.

I Left The Library. Crossing The Street, I Was Hit Head-on By A Brutal Loneliness. I Felt Dark And Hollow. Abandoned, Unnoticed, Forgotten, I Stood On The Sidewalk, A Nothing, A Gatherer Of Dust. People Hurried Past Me. And Everyone Who Walked By Was Happier Than I. I Felt The Old Envy. I Would Have Given Anything To Be One Of Them.

There Are Two Types Of People In The World: Those Who Prefer To Be Sad Among Others, And Those Who Prefer To Be Sad Alone.