Something Came Out From My Heart Into

Everything Tender And Melancholy - As Life Is Sometimes, Just For One Moment.

One Realized All Sorts Of Things. The Value Of An Illusion, For Instance, And That The Shadow Can Be More Important Than The Substance. All Sorts Of Things.

I Like Shape Very Much. A Novel Has To Have Shape, And Life Doesn't Have Any.

For The First Time She Had Dimly Realized That Only The Hopeless Are Starkly Sincere And That Only The Unhappy Can Either Give Or Take Sympathy--even Some Of The Bitter And Dangerous Voluptuousness Of Misery.

Before I Could Read, Almost A Baby, I Imagined That God, This Strange Thing Or Person I Heard About, Was A Book.