There Is Always The Other Side, Always.

Age Seldom Arrives Smoothly Or Quickly. It's More Often A Succession Of Jerks.

I Long To Be ... Like Other People! The Extraordinary, Ungetatable, Oddly Cruel Other People, With Their Way Of Wantonly Hurting And Then Accusing You Of Being Thin-skinned, Sulky, Vindictive Or Ridiculous.

All Of Writing Is A Huge Lake. There Are Great Rivers That Feed The Lake, Like Tolstoy Or Dostoyevsky. And Then There Are Mere Trickles, Like Jean Rhys. All That Matters Is Feeding The Lake. I Don't Matter. The Lake Matters. You Must Keep Feeding The Lake.

Your Red Dress,’ She Said, And Laughed. But I Looked At The Dress On The Floor And It Was As If The Fire Had Spread Across The Room. It Was Beautiful And It Reminded Me Of Something I Must Do. I Will Remember I Thought. I Will Remember Quite Soon Now.

Not That She Objected To Solitude. Quite The Contrary. She Had Books, Thank Heaven, Quantities Of Books. All Sorts Of Books.