Literature Takes A Habit Of Mind That

There Were Many Hours When I Never Quite Know How I'd Gotten There Or Why I Stayed.

When He Is Sick, Every Man Wants His Mother.

Nothing Bad Can Happen To A Writer. Everything Is Material.

I Was Gushing And I Knew It. I Surprised Myself With My Eagerness To Please, Felt Myself Saying Too Much, Explaining Too Much, Overinvolved And Overexcited In The Way You Are When You're A Kid And You Think You've Found A Soul Mate In The New Boy Down The Street And You Feel Yourself Drawn By The Force Of The Courtship And So Act As You Don't Normally Do And A Lot More Openly Than You May Even Want To.

Everybody Who Flashed The Signs Of Loyalty He Took To Be Loyal. Everybody Who Flashed The Signs Of Intelligence He Took To Be Intelligent. And So He Had Failed To See Into His Daughter, Failed To See Into His Wife, Failed To See Into His One And Only Mistress—probably Had Never Even Begun To See Into Himself