Love Is Just A System For Getting

The Writer Has Little Control Over Personal Temperament, None Over Historical Moment, And Is Only Partly In Charge Of His Or Her Own Aesthetic.

The Land Of Embarrassment And Breakfast.

Early In Life, The World Divides Crudely Into Those Who Have Had Sex And Those Who Haven't. Later, Into Those Who Have Known Love, And Those Who Haven't. Later Still - At Least, If We Are Lucky (or, On The Other Hand, Unlucky) - It Divides Into Those Who Have Endured Grief, And Those Who Haven't. These Divisions Are Absolute; They Are Tropics We Cross.

Though Why Should We Expect Age To Mellow Us? If It Isn't Life's Business To Reward Merit, Why Should It Be Life's Business To Give Us Warm Comfortable Feelings Towards Its End? What Possible Evolutionary Purpose Could Nostalgia Serve?

If The Writer Were More Like A Reader, He’d Be A Reader, Not A Writer. It’s As Uncomplicated As That.