There Are Times When The Kindness Of

We Move Through The Day Like Two Hands Of A Clock: Sometimes We Overlap For A Moment, Then Come Apart Again, Carrying On Alone. Everyday Exactly The Same: The Tea, The Burnt Toast, The Crumbs, The Silence.

If At Large Gatherings Or Parties, Or Around People With Whom You Feel Distant, Your Hands Sometimes Hang Awkwardly At The Ends Of Your Arms - I You Find Yourself At A Loss For What Do With Them, Overcome With Sadness That Comes When You Recognize The Foreignnes Of Your Own Body - It's Because Your Hands Remember A Time When The Division Between Mind And Body, Brain And Heart, What's Inside And What's Outside, Was So Much Less.

He Learned To Live With The Truth. Not To Accept It, But To Live With It.

I Think Of Novels As Houses. You Live In Them Over The Course Of A Long Period, Both As A Reader And As A Writer.

I Walked Down My Snow Covered Street. Out Of Habit I Turned And Checked For My Footsteps. When I Arrived At My Building I Looked For My Name On The Buzzers. And Because I Know That Sometimes I See Things That Aren't There, After Dinner I Called Information To Ask If I Was Listed.(25)