Oh, This Is The Joy Of The

How Terrible It Was To Love People When You Could Not Really Share Their Lives!

Your Vivid, Exciting Companionship In The Office Must Not Be Your Audience, You Must Find Your Own Quiet Center Of Life, And Write From That To The World.

It Has Long Been A Tradition Among Novel Writers That A Book Must End By Everybody Getting Just What They Wanted, Or If The Conventional Happy Ending Was Impossible, Then It Must Be A Tragedy In Which One Or Both Should Die. In Real Life Very Few Of Us Get What We Want, Our Tragedies Don't Kill Us, But We Go On Living Them Year After Year, Carrying Them With Us Like A Scar On An Old Wound.

Merely Having Seen The Season Change In A Country Gave One The Sense Of Having Been There For A Long Time.

Even The Wicked Get Worse Than They Deserve.