We Always Worry About The Wrong Things,

She Is Not A Writer At All, Really; She Is Merely A Gifted Eccentric.

I Was Living My Own Future And My Brother's Lost One As Well. I Represented Him Here Just As He Represented Me There, In Some Unguessable Other Place. His Move From Life To Death Might Resemble My Stepping Into The Kitchen - Into Its Soft Nowhere Quality And Foggy Hum. I Breathed The Dark Air. If I Had At That Moment A Sense Of Calm Kindly Death While My Heart Beat And My Lungs Expanded, He Might Know A Similar Sense Of Life In The Middle Of His Ongoing Death.

People Are More Than You Think They Are. And They're Less, As Well. The Trick Lies In Negotiating Your Way Between The Two.

It's The City's Crush And Heave That Move You; Its Intricacy; Its Endless Life. You Know The Story About Manhattan As A Wilderness Purchased For Strings Of Beads, But You Find It Impossible Not To Believe That It Has Always Been A City; That If You Dug Beneath It You Would Find The Ruins Of Another, Older City, And Then Another And Another.

These Days, Clarissa Believes, You Measure People First By Their Kindness And Their Capacity For Devotion. You Get Tired, Sometimes, Of Wit And Intellect; Everybody's Little Display Of Genius.