The Past Is Still, For Us, A

When We Are Young We Do Not Look Into Mirrors. It Is When We Are Old, Concerned With Our Name, Our Legend, What Our Lives Will Mean To The Future. We Become Vain With The Names We Own, Our Claims To Have Been The First Eyes, The Strongest Army, The Cleverest Merchant. It Is When He Is Old That Narcissus Wants A Graven Image Of Himself.

In Sri Lanka A Well-told Lie Is Worth A Thousand Facts.

He Turns His Back To The Far Shore And Rows Toward It. He Can In This Way Travel Away From, Yet Still See, His House....he Feels He Is Riding A Floating Skeleton...some Birds In The Almost-dark Are Flying As Close To Their Reflections As Possible.

Githa Hariharan's Fiction Is Wonderful-full Of Subtleties And Humor And Tenderness.

Once I've Discovered The Story, I Might Restructure It, Maybe Move Things Around, Set Up A Clue That Something Is Going To Happen Later, But That Happens Much Later In An Editorial Capacity.