What Is This Life But The Sound

You Never Know Where You're Going To Find The Same Thoughts In Another Brain, But When It Happens You Know It Right Off, Just Like You Were Connected By A Small Electrical Wire That Suddenly Glows Red Hot And Sparks.

Money Helps, Though Not So Much As You Think When You Don't Have It.

Every So Often Something Shatters Like Ice And We Are In The River Of Our Existence. We Are Aware.

You Really Need To Approach Each Book As If You Have Been A Failure. . . . If You Start To Believe Your Flap-copy, You're Finished As A Writer.

She Had Always Been A Reader… But Now She Was Obsessed. Since Her Discovery Of The Book Hoard Downstairs From Her Job, She’d Been Caught Up In One Such Collection Of People And Their Doings After The Next…the Pleasure Of This Sort Of Life – Bookish, She Supposed It Might Be Called, A Reading Life – Had Made Her Isolation Into A Rich And Even Subversive Thing. She Inhabited One Consoling Or Horrifying Persona After Another…that She Was Childless And Husbandless And Poor Meant Less Once She Picked Up A Book. Her Mistakes Disappeared Into It. She Lived With An Invented Force.