She Is Not A Writer At All,

I Have No Useful Theories About Love And Marriage.

As Writers We Must, From Our Very Opening Sentence, Speak With Authority To Our Readers.

If She Were Religious, She Would Call It The Soul. It Is More Than The Sum Of Her Intellect And Her Emotions, More Than The Sum Of Her Experiences, Though It Runs Like Veins Of Brilliant Metal Through All Three. It Is An Inner Faculty That Recognizes The Animating Mysteries Of The World Because It Is Made Of The Same Substance

A Certain Slightly Cruel Disregard For The Feelings Of Living People Is Simply Part Of The Package. I Think A Writer, If Hes Any Good, Is Not An Entirely Benign Entity In The World.

I Remember One Morning Getting Up At Dawn, There Was Such A Sense Of Possibility. You Know, That Feeling? And I Remember Thinking To Myself: So, This Is The Beginning Of Happiness. This Is Where It Starts. And Of Course There Will Always Be More. It Never Occurred To Me It Wasn't The Beginning. It Was Happiness. It Was The Moment. Right Then.