I Didn't Read A Serious Book Until

I Realized I Loved You, And I Didn't Want To Be Married To Somebody I Didn't Love. I Wanted To Be Married To You. It Isn't All That Complicated.

Paul Ryan, He Is The Real Evil Genius Of The Republican Party. He With His Little Hateful Widow's Peak And His Smirky, Snarly, Simpering Non-entity Self, That's Who I Detest. Trump's Just A Moron, But Ryan Is Ugly And Evil.

Construed As Turf, Home Just Seems A Provisional Claim, A Designation You Make Upon A Place, Not One It Makes On You. A Certain Set Of Buildings, A Glimpsed, Smudged Window-view Across A Schoolyard, A Musty Aroma Sniffed Behind A Garage When You Were A Child, All Of Which Come Crowding In Upon Your Latter-day Senses -- Those Are Pungent Things And Vivid, Even Consoling. But To Me They Are Also Inert And Nostalgic And Unlikely To Connect You To The Real, To That Essence Art Can Sometimes Achieve, Which Is Permanence.

Maturity, As I Conceived It, Was Recognizing What Was Bad Or Peculiar In Life, Admitting It Has To Stay That Way, And Going Ahead With The Best Of Things.

Until You Can Become Accountable To Yourself And Only Yourself, You're Probably Not Going To Live A Fully Vital Life. So Much Of Literature Is About Accountability. The Moral Issues In Most Novels Are About People Becoming Responsible For Their Own Behaviour. One Of The Forces Against Being Responsible For Your Own Behaviour Is The Force Of The Past, In The Way That The Past Tries To Form You.