The Silence Is Perfect, And Yet A

Write The Book You Want To Read, The One You Cannot Find.

So This Is Where The Years Of Maturity Deliver Us - To This Needy, Selfish, Unwieldy Wish To Be Somebody Else's First And Primal Other.

The Larger Loneliness Of Our Lives Evolves From Our Unwillingness To Spend Ourselves, Stir Ourselves. We Are Always Damping Down Our Inner Weather, Permitting Ourselves The Comforts Of Postponement, Of Rehearsals

A Childhood Is What Anyone Wants To Remember Of It. It Leaves Behind No Fossils, Except Perhaps In Fiction.

I'm Concerned About The Unknowability Of Other People.