Boredom Is A Pleasing Antidote For Fear

Every Moment Was A Precious Thing, Having In It The Essence Of Finality.

Once A Person Gave His Talent To The World, The World Put A Stamp Upon It. The Talent Was Not A Personal Possession Any More. It Was Something To Be Traded, Bought And Sold. It Fetched A High Price, Or A Low One. It Was Kicked In The Common Market.

We Know One Another. This Is The Present. There Is No Past And No Future. Here I Am Washing My Hands, And The Cracked Mirror Shows Me To Myself, Suspended As It Were, In Time; This Is Me, This Moment Will Not Pass.

When One Is Writing A Novel In The First Person, One Must Be That Person.

The Road To Manderley Lay Ahead. There Was No Moon. The Sky Above Our Heads Was Inky Black. But The Sky On The Horizon Was Not Dark At All. It Was Shot With Crimson, Like A Splash Of Blood. And The Ashes Blew Towards Us With The Salt Wind From The Sea.