It Was Hard To Reassure Grown-ups When

Words Are Nets Through Which All Truth Escapes.

It Was Hard To Reassure Grown-ups When You Weren't Certain Yourself What You Were Feeling And Thinking—when Thoughts Dissolved Before You Could Name Them.

Literature Is The Province Of Imagination, And Stories, In Whatever Guise, Are Meditations On Life.

Imagination Has To Do With One's Awareness Of The Reality Of Other People As Well As Of One's Own Reality. Imagination Is A Bridge Between The Provincialism Of The Self And The Great World.

There Was No Way To Grasp The Reality Of The Present Which Slid Away Each Second, Invisible As Air; Reality Only Existed After The Fact, In One's Vision Of The Past.