Dreams, You Know, Are What You Wake

You're...writing For Other Writers To An Extent-the Dead Writers Whose Work You Admire, As Well As The Living Writers You Like To Read.

My Heart Is Broken,” She Goes. “it’s Turned To A Piece Of Stone. I’m No Good. That’s What’s As Bad As Anything, That I’m No Good Anymore.

A Little Autobiography And A Lot Of Imagination Are Best.

It's Strange. You Never Start Out Life With The Intention Of Becoming A Bankrupt Or An Alcoholic Or A Cheat And A Thief. Or A Liar.

But I Can Hardly Sit Still. I Keep Fidgeting, Crossing One Leg And Then The Other. I Feel Like I Could Throw Off Sparks, Or Break A Window--maybe Rearrange All The Furniture.