Was It Possible That I Was, In

I Actually Find Novels That Are Determined To Be Funny At Every Turn Quite Oppressive.

I’ll Wait For You. Come Back. The Words Were Not Meaningless, But They Didn’t Touch Him Now. It Was Clear Enough - One Person Waiting For Another Was Like An Arithmetical Sum, And Just As Empty Of Emotion. Waiting. Simply One Person Doing Nothing, Over Time, While Another Approached. Waiting Was A Heavy Word.

Writers Are Said To Have Superstitions And Little Rituals. Readers Have Them Too.

Novels Without Female Characters Were A Lifeless Desert.

But To Do Its Noticing And Judging, Poetry Balances Itself On The Pinprick Of The Moment. Slowing Down, Stopping Yourself Completely, To Read And Understand A Poem Is Like Trying To Acquire An Old-fashioned Skill.