The Reader Is A Friend, Not An

Patty Knew, In Her Heart, That He Was Wrong In His Impression Of Her. And The Mistake She Went To Go On To Make, The Really Big Life Mistake, Was To Go Along With Walter's Version Of Her In Spite Of Knowing That It Wasn't Right. He Seemed So Certain Of Her Goodness That Eventually He Wore Her Down.

For Every Reader Who Dies Today, A Viewer Is Born, And We Seem To Be Witnessing . . . The Final Tipping Balance.

But Nothing Disturbs The Feeling Of Specialness Like The Presence Of Other Human Beings Feeling Identically Special.

Even In An Intensely Mediated World, In A World That Offers At Least The Illusion Of Radical Self-invention And Radical Freedom Of Choice, I As A Novelist Am Drawn To The Things You Can't Get Away From. Because Much Of The Promise Of Radical Self-invention, Of Defining Yourself Through This Marvelous Freedom Of Choice, It's Just A Lie. It's A Lie That We All Buy Into, Because It Helps The Economy Run.

But She Was Seventeen Now And Not Actually Dumb. She Knew That You Could Love Somebody More Than Anything And Still Not Love The Person All That Much, If You Were Busy With Other Things.