Do You Understand The Sadness

Don't We Forgive Everything Of A Lover? We Forgive Selfishness, Desire, Guile. As Long As We Are The Motive For It...there Are Some European Words You Can Never Translate Properly Into Another Language.

As Someone Who Writes Novels That Are Often Set In Other Periods Of Time Or Other Ages Or Other Landscapes, There's A Certain Element Of Research I Have To Do, And Often, The More Laconic People Are, The More Interesting They Become.

How We Are Almost Nothing. We Think, In Our Youth, We Are The Centre Of The Universe, But We Simply Respond, Go This Way Or That By Accident, Survive Or Improve By The Luck Of The Draw, With Little Choice Or Determination On Our Part.

Read Him Slowly, Dear Girl, You Must Read Kipling Slowly. Watch Carefully Where The Commas Fall So You Can Discover The Natural Pauses. He Is A Writer Who Used Pen And Ink. He Looked Up From The Page A Lot, I Believe, Stared Through His Window And Listened To Birds, As Most Writers Who Are Alone Do. Some Do Not Know The Names Of Birds, Though He Did. Your Eye Is Too Quick And North American. Think About The Speed Of His Pen. What An Appalling, Barnacled Old First Paragraph It Is Otherwise.

I See Myself As Someone Who's Been Saved By Writing. God Knows What I Would Have Been, Become Or How I Would Have Ended Up Without It.