I Wanted To Write A

Above All, In My Anger, I Was Sad. Isn't That Always The Way, That At The Heart Of The Fire Is A Frozen Kernel Of Sorrow That The Fire Is Trying -- Valiantly, Fruitlessly -- To Eradicate.

An Abiding Preoccupation For Me Is How Much Of Our Lives Are Invisible And Unknown By Other People Like The Chekhov Story The Lady With The Little Dog.

I Measure My Life Out In Books." "you Should Be Measuring Your Life By Living. Correction: You Shouldn't Be Measuring Your Life. What's The Point?

The More Accurately One Can Illuminate A Particular Human Experience, The Better The Work Of Art.

It's The Strangest Thing About Being Human: To Know So Much, To Communicate So Much, And Yet Always To Fall So Drastically Short Of Clarity, To Be, In The End, So Isolate And Inadequate. Even When People Try To Say Things, They Say Them Poorly Or Obliquely, Or They Outright Lie, Sometimes Because They're Lying To You, But As Often Because They're Lying To Themselves.