I Want To Know Everything About You,

I Thought, My Love Is So Good, Why Isn't It Calling The Same Thing Back.

I Know That Homes Burn And That You Should Think What To Save Before They Start To. Not Because, In The Heat Of It, Everything Looks As Valuable As Everything Else. But, Because Nothing Looks Worth The Bother, Not Even Your Life.

I Have Written Letters That Are Failures, But I Have Written Few, I Think, That Are Lies. Trying To Reach A Person Means Asking The Same Question Over And Over Again: Is This The Truth, Or Not? I Begin This Letter To You, Then, In The Western Tradition. If I Understand It, The Western Tradition Is: Put Your Cards On The Table.

The Worst Of It Is Over Now, And I Can't Say That I Am Glad. Lose That Sense Of Loss—you Have Gone And Lost Something Else. But The Body Moves Toward Health. The Mind, Too, In Steps. One Step At A Time. Ask A Mother Who Has Just Lost A Child, How Many Children Do You Have? "four," She Will Say, "—three," And Years Later, "three," She Will Say, "—four.

Obviously, In Journalism, You're Confined To What Happens. And The Tendency To Embellish, To Mythologize, It's In Us. It Makes Things More Interesting, A Closer Call. But Journalism Taught Me How To Write A Sentence That Would Make Someone Want To Read The Next One.