Today I Must Be Very Careful, Today

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.

I Think That The Desire To Be Cruel And To Hurt (with Words Because Any Other Way Might Be Dangerous To Ourself) Is Part Of Human Nature. Parties Are Battles (most Parties), A Conversation Is A Duel (often). Everybody's Trying To Hurt First, To Get In The Dig That Will Make Him Or Her Feel Superior, Feel Triumph.

...morbidly, Attracted Him To Strangeness, To Recklessnesss, Even Unhappiness.

Very Few People Change After Well Say Seven Or Seventeen. Not Really. They Get More This Or More That And Of Course Look A Bit Different. But Inside They Are The Same.

I Like Shape Very Much. A Novel Has To Have Shape, And Life Doesn't Have Any.