When You Realize Someone Is Trying To

The Sweetness That All Longed For Night And Day. Some Tragedy Might Be Idly Guessed At-loss Or Illness. She Had The Luminosity Of Those About To Die.

Italians Are Never Punctual; The Café, The Convenient Place To Wait, Absolves Them From That. There Is No Question Of Hanging About, No Looking Lost And Unwanted Or Even Disreputable, As There Is In Hotel Lobbies Or The Foyers Of Restaurants. One Just Sits And Enjoys The Scene, And Waits.

It's Nervous Work. The State You Need To Write In Is The State That Others Are Paying Large Sums Of Money To Get Rid Of.

That Was The Trouble With Experience; It Taught You That Most People Were Capable Of Anything, So That Loyalty Was Never Quite On Firm Ground -- Or, Rather, Became A Matter Of Pardoning Offenses Instead Of Denying Their Existence.

I Think That One Is Constantly Startled By The Things That Appear Before You On The Page When You're Writing.