I'd Given Up Everything To Be A

They Lay Silently. She Was Staring At Something Across The Room. She Was Making Him Feel Uncomfortable. 'it Wouldn't Work. It's The Attraction Of Opposites,' He Said. We're Not Opposites.' I Don't Mean Just You And Me. Women Fall In Love When They Get To Know You. Men Are Just The Opposite. When They Finally Know You They're Ready To Leave.

You Would Have To Be Very Optimistic To Think That Any Of Your Books Will Be Among The Books That Survive In The Very Long Run. I Think If A Writer Is Lucky Enough To Still Have A Few Books Around After He's Gone, A Few That Are Still Being Read, Then He's Accomplished Quite A Lot.

A Light Snow, A Snow So Faint And Small-bodied That It Seems Nothing More Than A Manifestation Of The Cold.

He Liked To Read With The Silence And The Golden Color Of The Whiskey As His Companions. He Liked Food, People, Talk, But Reading Was An Inexhaustible Pleasure. What The Joys Of Music Were To Others, Words On A Page Were To Him.

The Book Was In Her Lap; She Had Read No Further. The Power To Change One’s Life Comes From A Paragraph, A Lone Remark. The Lines That Penetrate Us Are Slender, Like The Flukes That Live In River Water And Enter The Bodies Of Swimmers. She Was Excited, Filled With Strength. The Polished Sentences Had Arrived, It Seemed, Like So Many Other Things, At Just The Right Time. How Can We Imagine What Our Lives Should Be Without The Illumination Of The Lives Of Others?