In Twenty Years I've Never Had A

It Almost Seemed As If There Must Be Some Random And Of Course Unfair Thrift In The Emotional Housekeeping Of The World, If The Great Happiness--however Temporary, However Flimsy--of One Person Could Come Out Of The Great Unhappiness Of Another.

I Don't Always, Or Even Usually, Read Stories From Beginning To End. I Start Anywhere And Proceed In Either Direction. A Story Is Not Like A Road To Follow, It's More Like A House. You Go Inside And Stay There For A While.

The Unhappiest Moment I Could Never Tell You. All Our Fights Blend Into Each Other And Are In Fact Re-enactments Of The Same Fight, In Which We Punish Each Other--i With Words, Hugh With Silence--for Being Each Other. We Never Needed Any More Than That.

In Dreams You Can Have The Feeling That You've Had This Dream Before, That You Have This Dream Over And Over Again, And You Know That It's Really Nothing That Simple. You Know That There's A Whole Underground System That You Call 'dreams,' Having Nothing Better To Call Them, And That This System Is Not Like Roads Or Tunnels But More Like A Live Body Network, All Coiling And Stretching, Unpredictable But Finally Familiar - Where You Are Now, Where You've Always Been.

A Story Is Not Like A Road To Follow... It's More Like A House. You Go Inside And Stay There For A While, Wandering Back And Forth And Settling Where You Like And Discovering How The Room And Corridors Relate To Each Other, How The World Outside It Altered By Being Viewed From These Windows.