I Think The Story Is

For Me Writing Is Foremost A Mode Of Thinking And When It Works Well, An Act Of Discovery

I Was Recently Asked What It Takes To Become A Writer. Three Things, I Answered: First, One Must Cultivate Incompetence At Almost Every Other Form Of Profitable Work. This Must Be Accompanied, Second, By A Haughty Contempt For All The Forms Of Work That One Has Established One Cannot Do. To These Two Must Be Joined, Third, The Nuttiness To Believe That Other People Can Be Made To Care About Your Opinions And Views And Be Charmed By The Way You State Them. Incompetence, Contempt, Lunacy—once You Have These In Place, You Are Set To Go.

No One Has Really Ever Defined What A Friend Is.

No Nostalgia Runs Deeper Than That For Something One Has Never Known And Now Cannot Obtain.

All Men And Women Are Born, Live, Suffer And Die; What Distinguishes Us One From Another Is Our Dreams, Whether They Be Dreams About Worldly Or Unworldly Things, And What We Do To Make Them Come About... We Do Not Choose To Be Born. We Do Not Choose Our Parents. We Do Not Choose Our Historical Epoch, The Country Of Our Birth, Or The Immediate Circumstances Of Our Upbringing. We Do Not, Most Of Us, Choose To Die; Nor Do We Choose The Time And Conditions Of Our Death. But Within This Realm Of Choicelessness, We Do Choose How We Live.