There's No Match For The Silence Of

Bruno, My Old Faithful. I Haven't Sufficiently Described Him. Is It Enough To Say He Is Indescribable? No. Better To Try And Fail Than Not To Try At All.

The Unique Thing That Literature Provides Is To Be Able To Step So Fully Into Another Situation And Condition.

Mom?" I Said. She Turned. "can I Talk To You About Something?" "of Course, Darling. Come Here." I Took A Few Steps Into The Room. There Was So Much I Wanted To Say. "i Need You To Be --" I Said, And Then I Started To Cry. "be What?" She Said, Opening Her Arms. "not Sad," I Said.

At The End, All That's Left Of You Are Your Possessions. Perhaps That's Why I've Never Been Able To Throw Anything Away. Perhaps That's Why I Hoarded The World: With The Hope That When I Died, The Sum Total Of My Things Would Suggest A Life Larger Than The One I Lived.

Life In General In My Experience Gets Deeper And Deeper, More And More Profound, More And More Complex, The Older One Gets.