I’ve Always Thought Of Myself

When The Excessively Shy Force Themselves To Be Forward, They Are Frequently Surprisingly Unsubtle And Overdirect And Even Rude: They Have Entered An Extreme Region Beyond Their Normal Personality, An Area Of Social Crime Where Gradations Don't Count; Unavailable To Them Are The Instincts And Taboos That Booming Extroverts, Who Know The Territory Of Self-advancement Far Better, Can Rely On.

Haven't You Felt A Peculiar Sort Of Worry About The Chair In Your Living Room That No One Sits In?

Wikipedia Flourished Partly Because It Was A Shrine To Altruism.

Maybe The Kindle Was The Bowflex Of Bookishness: Something Expensive That, When You Commit To It, Forces You To Do More Of Whatever It Is You Think You Should Be Doing More Of.

There's Something Paralyzing About Being A Writer That You Have To Escape. I Don't Want To Think Of Myself As A Guy Who's Written A Bunch Of Books. The 26 Letters Distance Us From Our Own Hesitations And They Make Us Sound As If We Know What We're Doing. We Know Grammar, We Know Prose, But Actually We're All Just Struggling In The Dark, Really.