You Can't Find Peace By Avoiding Life.

We Become The Stories We Tell Ourselves

What A Thrill, What A Shock, To Be Alive On A Morning In June, Prosperous, Almost Scandalously Privileged, With A Simple Errand To Run.

Dear Leonard. To Look Life In The Face. Always To Look Life In The Face And To Know It For What It Is. At Last To Know It. To Love It For What It Is, And Then, To Put It Away. Leonard. Always The Years Between Us. Always The Years. Always The Love. Always The Hours.

As Writers We Must, From Our Very Opening Sentence, Speak With Authority To Our Readers.

She'd Never Imagined It Like This-when She Thought Of Someone (a Woman Like Herself)losing Her Mind, She'd Imagined Shrieks And Wails, Hallucinations; But At That Moment It Had Seemed Clear That There Was Another Way, Far Quieter; A Way That Was Numb And Hopeless, Flat, So Much So That An Emotion As Strong As Sorrow Would Have Been A Relief.