My Ideal Goal Is To "mature" Into

Ordinary Facts Are Arranged Within Time, Strung Along Its Length As On A Thread. There They Have Their Antecedents And Their Consequences, Which Crowd Tightly Together And Press Hard One Upon The Other Without Any Pause. This Has Its Importance For Any Narrative, Of Which Continuity And Successiveness Are The Soul.

Even In The Depths Of Sleep, In Which He Had To Satisfy His Need For Protection And Love By Curling Himself Up Into A Trembling Ball, He Could Not Rid Himself Of The Feeling Of Loneliness And Homelessness.

The Days Hardened With Cold And Boredom Like Last Year's Loaves Of Bread. One Began To Cut Them With Blunt Knives Without Appetite, With A Lazy Indifference.

Could It Be That Time Is Too Narrow For All Events? Could It Happen That All The Seats Within Time Might Have Been Sold? Worried, We Run Along The Train Of Events, Preparing Ourselves For The Journey.

Under The Imaginary Table That Separates Me From My Readers, Don’t We Secretly Clasp Each Other’s Hands?