Writing Has Freed Me From The Despair

I Am Not A Romantic. I Am A Domestic Animal. I Do Not Sigh And Yearn For Extravagant Displays Of Passion, For The Grand Affair, The World Well Lost For Love. I Know All That, And Know That It Leaves You Lonely. No, What I Crave Is The Simplicity Of Routine. An Evening Walk, Arm In Arm, In Fine Weather. A Game Of Cards. Time For Idle Talk. Preparing A Meal Together.

Fiction Is The Great Repository Of The Moral Sense. The Wicked Get Punished.

You Can Never Betray The People Who Are Dead, So You Go On Being A Public Jew; The Dead Can't Answer Slurs, But I'm Here. I Would Love To Think That Jesus Wants Me For A Sunbeam, But He Doesn't.

You Are Wrong If You Think You Cannot Live Without Love. I Cannot Live Without It. I Do Not Mean That I Go Into A Decline, Develop Odd Symptoms, Became A Caricature. I Mean That I Cannot Live Well Without It. I Cannot Think Or Act Or Speak Or Write Or Even Dream With Any Kind Of Energy In The Absence Of Love. I Feel Excluded From The Living World. I Become Cold, Fish-like, Immobile. I Implode.

Death Is Only A Small Interruption.