Write The Book You Want To Read,

We Are Too Kind, Too Willing--too Unwilling Too--reaching Out Blindly With A Grasping Hand But Not Knowing How To Ask For What We Don't Even Know We Want.

The Recounting Of A Life Is A Cheat...even Our Own Stories Are Obscenely Distorted.

Happiness Is The Lucky Pane Of Glass You Carry In Your Head. It Takes All Your Cunning Just To Hang On To It, And Once It's Smashed You Have To Move Into A Different Sort Of Life.

Bookish People, Who Are Often Maladroit People, Persist In Thinking They Can Master Any Subtlety So Long As It's Been Shaped Into Acceptable Expository Prose.

A Childhood Is What Anyone Wants To Remember Of It. It Leaves Behind No Fossils, Except Perhaps In Fiction.