I Wrote About Four Novels Before I

To Be Truthful, Some Writers Stop You Dead In Your Tracks By Making You See Your Own Work In The Most Unflattering Light. Each Of Us Will Meet A Different Harbinger Of Personal Failure, Some Innocent Genius Chosen By Us For Reasons Having To Do With What We See As Our Own Inadequacies. The Only Remedy To This I Have Found Is To Read A Writer Whose Work Is Entirely Different From Another, Though Not Necessarily More Like Your Own—a Difference That Will Remind You Of How Many Rooms There Are In The House Of Art.

What I Love Is How Pissed Off Jane Eyre Is. She's In A Rage For The Whole Novel And The Payoff Is She Gets To Marry This Blind Guy Who's Toasted His Wife In The Attic." -angela Argo "blue Angel

The Mystery Of Death, The Riddle Of How You Could Speak To Someone And See Them Every Day And Then Never Again, Was So Impossible To Fathom That Of Course We Kept Trying To Figure It Out, Even When We Were Unconscious.

But Beneath It All Will Run That Sicilian Understanding That The Underside Of Joy Is Grief, That The Face Of Sacrifice And Suffering Is The Dark Mirror Image Of Pleasure And Enjoyment, That Every Moment Of Arrival Is To Be Treasured And Enjoyed In The Full Knowledge That It Has Brought Us A Moment Closer To The Moment Of Departure.

We Never Believe We're Beautiful, No Matter How Many Times We Hear It. We Never Believe It Until Someone Says It In The Right Way.