Married Life Requires Shared Mystery Even When

If Trump Was Just A Piddly-ass Little Hotel Owner Some Place, Having The Kind Of Character And Manners That He Has, He Would Not Be Worth Our Notice. But Because He's Now Been Based To This Huge Stage, Then His Dimensions Become Immense. He's Not A Tragic Figure Because He Doesn't Have The Capacity To Be Tragic. But The Consequences Of His Life And His Self Now Are Immense; They're Threatening To The World And To The Sanctity Of Human Life.

When People Realize They Are Being Listened To, They Tell You Things.

Some People Think That Writers Are Innately Solitary And That There's A Kind Of Romance To That Solitariness. I Tend To Think That What Writers Really Want To Do Is Get Accepted Into Things. They Want To Get Accepted Into Society, Into Culture, Into Intelligentsia, Into The Fun. Writing Is Their Mechanism, Their Instrument, For Doing That.

Something Will Be There When The Flood Recedes. We Know That. It Will Be Those People Now Standing In The Water, And On Those Rooftops - Many Black, Many Poor. Homeless. Overlooked. And It Will Be New Orleans - Though Its Memory May Be Shortened, Its Self-gaze And Eccentricity Scoured Out So That What's Left Is A City More Like Other Cities, Less Insular, Less Self-regarding, But Possibly More Self-knowing After Today. A City On Firmer Ground.

They May Already Know Too Much About Their Mother And Father--nothing Being More Factual Than Divorce, Where So Much Has To Be Explained And Worked Through Intelligently (though They Have Tried To Stay Equable). I've Noticed This Is Often The Time When Children Begin Calling Their Parents By Their First Names, Becoming Little Ironists After Their Parents' Faults. What Could Be Lonelier For A Parent Than To Be Criticized By His Child On A First-name Basis?