The Light Of Morning Decomposes Everything.

My Priority Is My Books, At Least At This Point. What I Have To Do Is Write The Narrative Of This Time.

If A Person Remains Tense For A Long Time He Might Not Notice It Himself, But It’s Like His Nerves Are A Piece Of Rubber That Has Been Stretched Out. It’s Hard To Go Back To The Original Shape.

I'd Be Smiling And Chatting Away, And My Mind Would Be Floating Around Somewhere Else, Like A Balloon With A Broken String.

So This Was How Secrets Got Started, I Thought To Myself. People Constructed Them Little By Little.

The Worst Thoughts Usually Strike In The Dead Of The Night.