Row, Row, Row Your Boat. Gently Down

The Images, The Language, Of Pornography, And Romance Are Alike; Monotonous And Mechanically Seductive, Quickly Leading To Despair.

I Want My Stories To Move People ... To Feel Some Kind Of Reward From The Writing.

She Sits In Her Usual Ample Armchair, With Piles Of Books And Unopened Magazines Around Her. She Sips Cautiously From The Mug Of Weak Herb Tea Which Is Now Her Substitute For Coffee. At One Time She Thought That She Could Not Live Without Coffee, But It Turned Out That It Is Really The Warm Large Mug She Wants In Her Hands, That Is The Aid To Thought Or Whatever It Is She Practices Through The Procession Of Hours, Or Of Days.

She Keeps On Hoping From A Word From Penelope, But Not In Any Strenuous Way. She Hopes As People Who Know Better Hope For Undeserved Blessings, Spontaneous Remissions, Things Of That Sort.

We Say Of Some Things That They Can't Be Forgiven, Or That We Will Never Forgive Ourselves. But We Do-we Do It All The Time.