It Was Too Much Work To Remember

Home, Bed, Sleep, Mother--who Knew More Beautiful Words Than These?

The Swedish He Knew Was Mostly From Bergman Films. He Had Learned It As A College Student, Matching The Subtitles To The Sounds. In Swedish, He Could Only Converse On The Darkest Of Subjects.

I Was Starting To Wonder If I Was Ready To Be A Writer, Not Someone Who Won Prizes, Got Published And Was Given The Time And Space To Work, But Someone Who Wrote As A Course Of Life. Maybe Writing Wouldn't Have Any Rewards. Maybe The Salvation I Would Gain Through Work Would Only Be Emotional And Intellectual. Wouldn't That Be Enough, To Be A Waitress Who Found An Hour Or Two Hidden In Every Day To Write?

Society Was Nothing But A Long, Dull Dinner Party Conversation In Which One Was Forced To Speak To One's Partner On Both The Left And The Right.

Never Be So Focused On What You're Looking For That You Overlook The Thing You Actually Find.