If You Start Thinking About Being Likable

I Write From Real Life. I Am An Unrepentant Eavesdropper And A Collector Of Stories. I Record Bits Of Overheard Dialogue.

Her Blog Was Doing Well, With Thousands Of Unique Visitors Each Month, And She Was Earning Good Speaking Fees, And She Had A Fellowship At Princeton And A Relationship With Blaine - "you Are The Absolute Love Of My Life," He'd Written In Her Last Birthday Card - And Yet There Was Cement In Her Soul. It Had Been There For A While, An Early Morning Disease Of Fatigue, Shapeless Desires, Brief Imaginary Glints Of Other Lives She Could Be Living, That Over The Months Melded Into A Piercing Homesickness.

One Of The Things That Struck Me When I Came To The U.s. Was Discovering American Poverty.

You Can't Write A Script In Your Mind And Then Force Yourself To Follow It. You Have To Let Yourself Be.

And It's Wrong Of You To Think That Love Leaves Room For Nothing Else. It's Possible To Love Something And Still Condescend To It.