Dear Me, How I Love A Library.

Do You Think There's Any Way Humans Can Love Each Other Without Complication?

When I Look At My Life And The Lives Of My Female Friends These Days - With Our Dizzying Number Of Opportunities And Talents - I Sometimes Feel As Though We Are All Mice In A Giant Experimental Maze, Scurrying Around Frantically, Trying To Find Our Way Through.

Your Home Is Whatever In This World You Love More Than You Love Yourself.

I'm Not Particularly Inventive. If You Left Me In а Room And Told Me To Write A Novel, I Wouldn't Be Able To Do It. But If You Gave Me Two Years In A Public Library Around The Corner, I Could. It All Comes From Sort Of Mixing The True And The Invented. I'm Not A Fabulist. I'm More Of A Reporter.

I Am Burdened With What The Buddhists Call The Monkey Mind. The Thoughts That Swing From Limb To Limb, Stopping Only To Scratch Themselves, Spit And Howl. My Mind Swings Wildly Through Time, Touching On Dozens Of Ideas A Minute, Unharnessed And Undisciplined. You Are, After All, What You Think. Your Emotions Are The Slaves To Your Thoughts, And You Are The Slave To Your Emotions.