The Process Of Reading Is Reciprocal; The

Fashion Seems To Exist For An Abstract Person Who Is Not You Or Me.

Spoilt Pleasure Is A Sad, Unseemly Thing; You Can Only Bury It.

Disappointment Tears The Bearable Film Off Life.

Almost Everybody Wore A Curious Limpidity Of Expression, Like Newborn Babies Or Souls Just After Death. Dazed But Curiously Dignified.... After A Criseof Hysterical Revulsion And Tiredness, I Passed Beyondand Became Entered By A Rather Sublime Feeling.

Memory Must Be Patchy; What Is More Alarming Is Its Face-savingness. Something In One Shrinks From Catching It Out - Unique To Oneself, One's Own, One's Claim To Identity, It Implicates One's Identity In Its Fibbing.