But Life Never Lets You Go, Does

I Have At Times Tried To Imagine The Despair Which Leads To Suicide, Attempted To Conjure Up The Slew And Slop Of Darkness In Which Only Death Appears As A Pinprick Of Light: In Other Words, The Exact Opposite Of The Normal Condition Of Life.

Perhaps Love Is Essential Because It's Unnecessary.

The Better You Know Someone, The Less Well You Often See Them (and The Less Well They Can Therefore Be Transferred Into Fiction). They May Be So Close As To Be Out Of Focus, And There Is No Operating Novelist To Dispel The Blur.

History Isn't The Lies Of The Victors, As I Once Glibly Assured Old Joe Hunt; I Know That Now. It's More The Memories Of The Survivors, Most Of Whom Are Neither Victorious Or Defeated.

This Was Another Of Our Fears: That Life Wouldn't Turn Out To Be Like Literature.