What I Wanted To Do Seemed Simple.

I Was Not Ladylike, Nor Was I Manly. I Was Something Else Altogether. There Were So Many Different Ways To Be Beautiful.

There's The Fact That American Fiction Is Basically The Most Apolitical Fiction On The Globe. A South American Writer Wouldn't Dare Think Of Writing A Novel If It Didn't Allude To The System Into Which These People Are Orchestrated - Or An Eastern European Writer, Or A Russian Writer, Or A Chinese Writer. Only American Writers Are Able To Imagine That The Government And The Corporations - All Of It - Seem To Have No Effect Whatsoever.

Man," He Said, "i'm Not Afraid Of Graveyards. The Dead Are Just, You Know, People Who Wanted The Same Things You And I Want." "what Do We Want?" I Asked Blurrily. "aw, Man, You Know," He Said. "we Just Want, Well, The Same Things These People Wanted." "what Was That?" He Shrugged. "to Live, I Guess," He Said.

That Summer When She Was Eighteen, It Seemed Anything Could Happen, Anything At All.

You Want To Give Him The Book Of His Own Life, The Book That Will Locate Him, Parent Him, Arm Him For The Changes.