We're Not Meant For Happiness, You And

We Can Never Go Back Again, That Much Is Certain. The Past Is Still Close To Us. The Things We Have Tried To Forget And Put Behind Us Would Stir Again, And That Sense Of Fear, Of Furtive Unrest, Struggling At Length To Blind Unreasoning Panic - Now Mercifully Stilled, Thank God - Might In Some Manner Unforeseen Become A Living Companion As It Had Before.

I Thought Of All Those Heroines Of Fiction Who Looked Pretty When They Cried, And What A Contrast I Must Make With A Blotched And Swollen Face, And Red Rims To My Eyes.

He Was Like Someone Sleeping Who Woke Suddenly And Found The World...all The Beauty Of It, And The Sadness Too. The Hunger And The Thirst. Everything He Had Never Thought About Or Known Was There Before Him, And Magnified Into One Person Who By Chance, Or Fate--call It What You Will--happened To Be Me.

Life Was A Series Of Greetings And Farewells, One Was Always Saying Good-bye To Something, To Someone.

Women Want Love To Be A Novel, Men A Short Story.