We Become The Stories We Tell Ourselves

Virginia Woolf's Great Novel, 'mrs. Dalloway,' Is The First Great Book I Ever Read. I Read It Almost By Accident When I Was In High School, When I Was 15 Years Old.

I Think Writing Is, By Definition, An Optimistic Act.

There Is A Beauty In The World, Though It's Harsher Than We Expect It To Be.

The Kiss Was Innocent--innocent Enough--but It Was Also Full Of Something Not Unlike What Virginia Wants From London, From Life; It Was Full Of A Love Complex And Ravenous, Ancient, Neither This Nor That. It Will Serve As This Afternoon's Manifestation Of The Central Mystery Itself, The Elusive Brightness That Shines From The Edges Of Certain Dreams; The Brightness Which, When We Awaken, Is Already Fading From Our Minds, And Which We Rise In The Hope Of Finding, Perhaps Today, This New Day In Which Anything Might Happen, Anything At All.

Oh, All You Immigrants And Visionaries, What Do You Hope To Find Here, Who Do You Hope To Become?