What I Really Do Is Take Real

An Unrectified Case Of Injustice Has A Terrible Way Of Lingering, Restlessly, In The Social Atmosphere Like An Unfinished Question.

Maybe Any Action Becomes Cowardly Once You Stop To Reason About It.

If You Talked Or Laughed In Church, Told Lies, Had Impure Thoughts Or Conversations, You Were Bad; If You Obeyed Your Parents Or Guardians, Went To Confession And Communion Regularly, Said Prayers For The Dead, You Were Good.

I Suppose Everyone Continues To Be Interested In The Quest For The Self, But What You Feel When You're Older, I Think, Is That ... You Really Must Make The Self. It Is Absolutely Useless To Look For It, You Won't Find It, But It's Possible In Some Sense To Make It. I Don't Mean In The Sense Of Making A Mask, A Yeatsian Mask. But You Finally Begin In Some Sense To Make And Choose The Self You Want.

A Novelist Is An Elephant, But An Elephant Who Must Pretend To Forget.