There Seemed Nothing So True As A

Plots Are For Dead People.

Adults Are Living Increasingly As Children: Completely In Their Imaginations. Reading Harry Potter While Every Newspaper In The Country Goes Out Of Business. They Know So Little That Is Real.

Everything One Reads Is Nourishment Of Some Sort - Good Food Or Junk Food - And One Assumes It All Goes In And Has Its Way With Your Brain Cells.

This Was My Modest Dream Come True: Unambitious Flight. The Kind That Never Even Got High Enough For A View.

But I Believed In Starting Over. There Was Finally, I Knew, Only Rupture And Hurt And Falling Short Between All Persons, But, Shirley, The Best Revenge Was To Turn Your Life Into A Small Gathering Of Miracles. If I Could Not Be Anchored And Profound, I Would Try, At Least, To Be Kind.