It's Easy, After All, Not To Be

Time...give Us Enough Time And Our Best-supported Decisions Will Seem Wobbly, Our Certainties Whimsical.

As I've Explained To My Wife Many Times, You Have To Kill Your Wife Or Mistress To Get On The Front Page Of The Papers.

I'm Interested In Such Things As The Difference Between How We Perceive The World And What The World Turns Out To Be. The Difference Is Between The Stories We Tell Others And The Stories We Tell Ourselves. There Is A Wonderful Russian Saying, Which I Use As The Epigraph Of One Of My Novels, Which Goes, He Lies Like An Eyewitness. Which Is Very Sly, Clever And True.

People In Love, It Is Well Known, Suffer Extreme Conceptual Delusions, The Most Common Of These Being That Other People Find Your Condition As Thrilling And Eye-watering As You Do Yourselves.

In Those Days, We Imagined Ourselves As Being Kept In Some Kind Of Holding Pen, Waiting To Be Released Into Our Lives. And When The Moment Came, Our Lives -- And Time Itself -- Would Speed Up. How Were We To Know That Our Lives Had In Any Case Begun, That Some Advantage Had Already Been Gained, Some Damage Already Inflicted? Also, That Our Release Would Only Be Into A Larger Holding Pen, Whose Boundaries Would Be At First Undiscernible.