I'm A Little Bit Of A Fabric

I Can See How, Given A Certain Degree Of Sensitivities, Proclivities And Rage, I Could Have Ended Up Differently.

All You Have Is The Writer's Imagination. You Have A Very Limited Time To Take This Imaginary Person And Bring The Details Of Their Life, As You Perceive Them, To Life. You Attempt To Do To That As Fully And As Vibrantly As You Can. It's Depressing To Read How Much You've Failed. And It's Not Even Particularly Instructive Or Necessary To Read How You Succeeded Because In The End Don't You Have To Judge That?

It's A Little Bit Hard To Have Personal Things Subject To Public Scrutiny, And It's A Pressure That Other People Aren't Under, But Then They're Under A Lot Of Pressures That We're Not Under.

And May The Best Of You - For It Will Only Be The Best Of You, And Even Then Only In The Rarest And Briefest Moments - Succeed In Framing That Most Basic Of Questions, 'how Do We Live?'

I Don't Have A Saviour Or A Royal Family.