The Writer’s Life Is A Life Of

If You're Interested In How People Behave, If You're Interested In The Way They Talk About Themselves, The Way The Conceive Of Themselves, It's Very Hard To Ignore Drugs Nowadays, Because That Is So Much Part Of The Conversation.

She Wondered: How Could People Respond To These Images If Images Didn't Secretly Enjoy The Same Status As Real Things? Not That Images Were So Powerful, But That The World Was So Weak. It Could Be Read, Certainly, In Its Weakness, As On Days When The Sun Baked Fallen Apples In Orchards And The Valley Smelled Like Cider, And Cold Nights When Jordan Had Driven Chadds Ford For Dinner And The Tires Of Her Chevrolet Had Crunched On The Gravel Driveway; But The World Was Fungible Only As Images. Nothing Got Inside The Head Without Becoming Pictures.

Popularity Has Become Its Own Justification.

He And His Wife Loved Each Other And Brought Each Other Daily Pain. Everything Else He Was Doing In His Life, Even His Longing For Lalitha, Amounted To Little More Than Flight From Circumstance. He And Patty Couldn't Live Together And Couldn't Imagine Living Apart. Each Time He Thought They'd Reached The Unbearable Breaking Point, It Turned Out That There Was Still Further They Could Go Without Breaking.

Imagine That Human Existence Is Defined By An Ache: The Ache Of Our Not Being, Each Of Us, The Center Of The Universe; Of Our Desires Forever Outnumbering Our Means Of Satisfying Them.