Myrna Could Spend Happy Hours Browsing Bookcases.

Every Decade Of My Life I Attempted To Write A Novel. But I Had Nothing To Say. I Was Far Too Self-absorbed, And Now I Realize I Was Writing For Others, So That They'd Applaud Me, See My Genius, Tell Me How Wonderful I Am, Or Be Jealous Of My Success.

Let Every Man Shovel Out His Own Snow, And The Whole City Will Be Passable," Said Gamache. Seeing Beauvoir's Puzzled Expression He Added, "emerson." "lake And Palmer?" "ralph And Waldo.

Don't Mistake Dramatics For A Conscience.

The Leaves Had Fallen From The Trees And Lay Crisp And Crackling Beneath His Feet. Picking One Up He Marveled, Not For The First Time, At The Perfection Of Nature Where Leaves Were Most Beautiful At The Very End Of Their Lives.

A Good Novel Is A Good Novel, Pointe Finale. And I Think What I'm Writing Is Exactly That.