In Life We Sit At The Table

We Move Through The Day Like Two Hands Of A Clock: Sometimes We Overlap For A Moment, Then Come Apart Again, Carrying On Alone. Everyday Exactly The Same: The Tea, The Burnt Toast, The Crumbs, The Silence.

The Unique Thing That Literature Provides Is To Be Able To Step So Fully Into Another Situation And Condition.

If The Book Is A Mystery To Its Author As She's Writing, Inevitably It's Going To Be A Mystery To The Reader As He Or She Reads It.

You Can't Imagine How Hard I Am On Myself. Nothing Pummels Me Like My Own Doubts, The Feeling Of How Far I Still Have To Go.

Lonely People Are Always Up In The Middle Of The Night.