As The Years Go On A Sense

Once You Are Thought Selfish, Not Only Are You Forgiven A Life Designed Mainly To Suit Yourself, Which In Anyone Else Would Appear Monstrous, But If An Impulse To Generosity Should By Chance Overpower You, You Will Get Five Times The Credit Of Some Poor Selfless Soul Who Has Been Oozing Kindness For Years.

Nostalgia Is A Dangerous Emotion, Both Because It Is Powerless To Act In The Real World, And Because It Glides So Easily Into Hatred And Resentment Against Those Who Have Taken Our Eden From Us.

What Marks A Writer Is This: Until She - Or He, Of Course - Writes Down Whatever Happened, Turns It Into A Story, It Hasn't Really Happened, It Hasn't Shape, Form, Reality.

It's Hard To Be Happy, And Safe, And Applauded In A Miserable World.

We Women Have Lived Too Much With Closure: "if He Notices Me, If I Marry Him, If I Get Into College, If I Get This Work Accepted, If I Get This Job" -- There Always Seems To Loom The Possibility Of Something Being Over, Settled, Sweeping Clear The Way For Contentment. This Is The Delusion Of A Passive Life. When The Hope For Closure Is Abandoned, When There Is An End To Fantasy, Adventure For Women Will Begin.