Love Doesn't Need A Reason. Hate Needs

My Wife's Dying Upstairs And I Can't Do Anything About It. I Look In Her Face And I See The Memories There. I See How I Hurt Her And How I Said The Wrong Things And How I Got Angry And How I Wasn't The Man She Hoped I'd Be. I See That In Her Face And I See She's Going To Die With That. You Think I'm Not Preoccupied?

I'm Reading "the Sunset Of A Splendid Century" By W.h. Lewis. He Was C.s. Lewis's Brother. He Wrote Two Books About The French Court Of Louis Xiv That Are Incredibly Detailed. They Are Books That On Every Page You Say, "wow, Think Of That."

Adolescence Is A Dreadful Period. We Tend To Notice Those Youngsters Who Misbehave And Call Attention To Themselves, But There Are Others, Equally Miserable, Who Receive No Help Simply Because They Are Silent. (41)

Sometimes Someone Will Tell Me About An Author I've Never Heard Of Before And That Will Send Me To That Person. That's How I Discovered Thomas Bernhard, An Austrian Novelist Whose Novels Tend To Be One Long Rant.

One Writes A Poem When One Is So Taken Up By An Emotional Concept That One Is Unable To Remain Silent.