Lovers. Not A Soft Word, As People

People Are Curious. A Few People Are. ... They Will Put Things Together, Knowing All Along That They May Be Mistaken. You See Them Going Around With Notebooks, Scraping The Dirt Off Gravestones, Reading Microfilm, Just In The Hope Of Seeing This Trickle In Time, Making A Connection, Rescuing One Thing From The Rubbish.

Now I No Longer Believe That People's Secrets Are Defined And Communicable, Or Their Feelings Full-blown And Easy To Recognize.

I Knew I Would Be Famous One Day. That's Because I Lived In A Very Small Town And Nobody Liked Doing The Same Things I Did, Like Writing.

I Saw How The Forms Of Love Might Be Maintained With A Condemned Person But With The Love In Fact Measured And Disciplined, Because You Have To Survive. It Could Be Done So Discreetly That The Object Of Such Care Would Not Suspect, Any More Than She Would Suspect The Sentence Of Death Itself.

One Drop Of Hatred In Your Soul Will Spread And Discolor Everything Like A Drop Of Black Ink In White Milk.