What Was It To Love Someone, What

But There Was Not A Moment When She Did Not See Carol In Her Mind, And All She Saw, She Seemed To See Through Carol. That Evening, The Dark Flat Streets Of New York, The Tomorrow Of Work, The Milk Bottle Dropped And Broken In Her Sink, Became Unimportant. She Flung Herself On Her Bed And Drew A Line With A Pencil On A Piece Of Paper. And Another Line, Carefully, And Another. A World Was Born Around Her, Like A Bright Forest With A Million Shimmering Leaves.

And No Book, And Possibly No Painting, When It Is Finished, Is Ever Exactly Like The First Dream Of It.

I Should Love To Do A Novel, About One Abnormal Character Seeing Present-day Life, Very Ordinary Life, Yet Arresting Through It, Abnormality, Until At The End The Reader Sees, And With Little Reluctance, That He Is Not Abnormal At All, And That The Main Character Might As Well Be Himself.

How Was It Possible To Be Afraid And In Love... The Two Things Did Not Go Together. How Was It Possible To Be Afraid, When The Two Of Them Grew Stronger Together Every Day? And Every Night. Every Night Was Different, And Every Morning. Together They Possessed A Miracle.

I Don`t Set The Alarm To Get Up. I Get Up When I Feel Like It.