It Is A Bad Idea

Writing Doesn't Come Real Easy To Me. I Couldn't Write A Novel In A Year. It Wouldn't Be Readable. I Don't Let An Editor Even Look At It Until The Second Year, Because It Would Just Scare Them. I Just Have To Trust That All These Scraps And Dead-ends Will Find A Way.

And Then She Thought That You Went On Living One Day After Another, And In Time You Were Somebody Else, Your Previous Self Only Like A Close Relative, A Sister Or Brother, With Whom You Shared A Past. But A Different Person, A Separate Life. Certainly Neither She Nor Inman Were The People They Had Been The Last Time They Were Together. And She Believed Maybe She Liked Them Both Better Now.

It Is A Bad Idea To Live Too Long. Few Carry It Off Well.

We Are Not Strong Enough To Stand Up Against Endless Grief, And Yet Pain Is The Constant Drone Of Life. So If We Are To Have Any Happiness At All, It Is Only In The Passing Instant.

All I Can Say Is That We Are Mistaken To Gouge Such A Deep Rift In History That The Things Old Men And Old Women Know Have Become So Useless As To Be Not Worth Passing On To Grandchildren.