It Took Hours To Turn The Clock

It Seems To Me Self-evident That If You Have A Life, Things Happen In It, And Certain Things Do Change; Certain Things End. People You Know Die.

As With All Forms Of Liberation, Of Which The Liberation Of Women Is Only One Example, It Is Easy To Suppose In A Time Of Freedom That The Darker Days Of Repression Can Never Come Again.

Everything He'd Done With Regard To Her In The Last Three Years Had Been Calculated To Foreclose The Intensely Personal Sort Of Talks They'd Had When He Was Younger: To Get Her To Shut Up, To Train Her To Contain Herself, To Make Her Stop Pestering Him With Her Overfull Heart And Her Uncensored Self. And Now That The Training Was Complete And She Was Obediently Trivial With Him, He Felt Bereft Of Her And Wanted To Undo It.

There's A Hazardous Sadness To The First Sounds Of Someone Else's Work In The Morning; It's As If Stillness Experiences Pain In Being Broken.

When I Was Younger, The Main Struggle Was To Be A 'good Writer.' Now I More Or Less Take My Writing Abilities For Granted, Although This Doesn't Mean I Always Write Well.