The Constant Happiness Is Curiosity.

His Face Contained For Me All Possibilities Of Fierceness And Sweetness, Pride And Submissiveness, Violence, Self-containment. I Never Saw More In It Than I Had When I Saw It First, Because I Saw Everything Then. The Whole Thing In Him That I Was Going To Love, And Never Catch Or Explain.

I Would Really Hope This Would Make People See The Short Story As An Important Art, Not Just Something You Played Around With Until You Got A Novel.

I Want My Stories To Be Something About Life That Causes People To Say, Not, Oh, Isn't That The Truth, But To Feel Some Kind Of Reward From The Writing, And That Doesn't Mean That It Has To Be A Happy Ending Or Anything, But Just That Everything The Story Tells Moves The Reader In Such A Way That You Feel You Are A Different Person When You Finish.

What If People Really Did That - Sent Their Love Through The Mail To Get Rid Of It? What Would It Be That They Sent? A Box Of Chocolates With Centers Like The Yolks Of Turkey Eggs. A Mud Doll With Hollow Eye Sockets. A Heap Of Roses Slightly More Fragrant Than Rotten. A Package Wrapped In Bloody Newspaper That Nobody Would Want To Open.

A Story ... Has A Sturdy Sense Of Itself Of Being Built Out Of Its Own Necessity, Not Just To Shelter Or Beguile You.