It Seems To Me That There Are

As I Look Back On What I Have Written, I Can See That The Very Persons Who Have Taken Away My Time Are Those Who Have Given Me Something To Say.

When My Husband Died, People Kept Telling Me Not To Cry. People Kept Trying To Help Me To Forget. But I Didn't Want To Forget. [...] So I Realize, That If It's Hard For Me, How Much Harder It Must Be For You.

What I Have Come To Believe Is That Joy Is The Twin Sister Of Gratitude. I Am Most Joyful When I Am Most Grateful.

My Heart Is Heavy, She Thought. It’s Not Just A Saying. It Is What Is—heavy, A Great Stone Lodged In My Breast, Pressing Down My Whole Being. How Can I Even Stand Straight And Look Out Upon The World? I Am Doubled Over Into Myself And, For All The Weight, Find Only Emptiness.

The World That Is In Me Is The Only World I Have By Which To Grasp The World Outside And As I Write Fiction, It Is The Chart By Which I Must Steer.