I'm A Method Writer. In Order To

Corliss Had Never Once Considered The Fate Of Library Books. She'd Never Wondered How Many Books Go Unread. She Loved Books. How Could She Not Worry About The Unread? She Felt Like A Disorganized Scholar, An Inconsiderate Lover, An Abusive Mother, And A Cowardly Soldier.

I Write Less About Alcohol, Less And Less And Less. You 're An Addict - So Of Course You Write About The Thing You Love Most. I Loved Alcohol The Most, Loved It More Than Anybody Or Anything. That's What I Wrote About. And It Certainly Accounted For Some Great Writing. But It Accounted For Two Or Three Years Of Good Writing - It Would Never Account For 20 Years Of Good Writing. I Would Have Turned Into Charles Bukowski. He Wrote 10,000 Poems And 10 Of Them Were Great.

And None Of These People, Not One Of Them, Had Loved Any Of The Others Well Enough. Failures, He Thought, We're All Failures... He Wanted His Love To Be The Wine And Bread, And The Blood And Flesh. He Reached For Her, A Dangerous Stranger In A City Of Dangerous Strangers, But She Turned Away From Him And Walked Unsteadily Through The Crowd. How Many Loveless People Walk Among The Barely Loved?

Nervous Means You Want To Play. Scared Means You Don't Want To Play.

[f]rank Knew He Was Guilty Of Arrogance And Misanthropy, But He Compensated By Being Kind To Strangers And Tipping Really Well At Restaurants.