There Is Always A Point In The

Had I Been Blessed With Even Limited Access To My Own Mind There Would Have Been No Reason To Write.

My Own Fantasies Of What Life Would Be Like At 24 Tended To The More Spectacular.

I Have Always Wanted A Swimming Pool And Never Had One.

If We Do Not Respect Ourselves, We Are On The One Hand Forced To Despise Those Who Have So Few Resources As To Consort With Us, So Little Perception As To Remain Blind To Our Fatal Weaknesses. On The Other, We Are Peculiarly In Thrall To Everyone We See, Curiously Determined To Live Out — Since Our Self-image Is Untenable — Their False Notions Of Us… We Play Roles Doomed To Failure Before They Are Begun, Each Defeat Generating Fresh Despair At The Urgency Of Divining And Meeting The Next Demand Made Upon Us.

There Was A Level On Which I Believed That What Had Happened Remained Reversible