She Would Live Now, Not Read.

Speculation Can Be More Gentle, Can Take Its Time, When It Is Not Driven By Desire.

For Years And Years I Thought That Stories Were Just Practice, Till I Got Time To Write A Novel.

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

If I Decided To Send This To You, Where Would I Send It? When I Think Of Writing The Whole Address On The Envelope I Am Paralyzed. It's Too Painful To Think Of You In The Same Place With Your Life Going On In The Same Way, Minus Me. And To Think Of You Not There, You Somewhere Else But I Don't Know Where That Is, Is Worse.

And Now Such A Warm Commotion, Such Busy Love.