The Writer’s Life Is A Life Of

The Correction, When It Finally Came, Was Not An Overnight Bursting Of A Bubble But A Much More Gentle Letdown, A Year-long Leakage Of Value From Key Financial Markets, A Contraction Too Gradual To Generate Headlines And Too Predictable To Seriously Hurt Anybody But Fools And The Working Poor.

[t]hat I Could Find Company And Consolation And Hope In An Object Pulled Almost At Random From A Bookshelf--felt Akin To An Instance Of Religious Grace.

The Reader Is A Friend, Not An Adversary, Not A Spectator.

I Wanted All Of Her And Resented Other Boys For Wanting Any Part Of Her.

An Ink Bottle, Which Now Seems Impossibly Quaint, Was Still Thinkable As A Symbol In 1970.