But We're Lost In A World Of

I Measure My Life Out In Books." "you Should Be Measuring Your Life By Living. Correction: You Shouldn't Be Measuring Your Life. What's The Point?

That's So Her. You Know, Torn Between Big Ideas And A Party. She's Always Been That Way.

An Abiding Preoccupation For Me Is How Much Of Our Lives Are Invisible And Unknown By Other People Like The Chekhov Story The Lady With The Little Dog.

The Professor Husband Of A Friend Of Mine Has Likened Children To The Insane. I Often Think Of It. He Says That Children Live On The Edge Of Madness, That Their Behavior, Apparently Unmotivated, Shares The Same Dream Logic As Crazy People's. I See What He Means, And Because I've Learned To Be Patient With Children, To Tease Out The Logic That's Always Somewhere There, And Irrefutable Once Explained.

And Then, Into The Fantasy, As Into A Dream, Would Come The Thought: It's Not Like This Anymore; The World Has Changed. Just The Way, Even At That Time Fully Two Years After My Mother's Death, I'd Catch Myself Thinking About Her As Alive; And Would Suddenly Remember, An Admonitory Finger Of Grief Upon My Breast, That She Was Gone.