It’s Just Life. You Can’t

Every Year, When You're A Child, You Become A Different Person.

Now That I Think Of It, She Looked Splendid. I Wish I Had Met Her Somewhere Else. I Wish I Had Appreciated Her As She Deserved. I Wish That Everything Had Gone Differently.

You Cannot Let Your Parents Anywhere Near Your Real Humiliations.

I Would Really Hope This Would Make People See The Short Story As An Important Art, Not Just Something You Played Around With Until You Got A Novel.

One Drop Of Hatred In Your Soul Will Spread And Discolor Everything Like A Drop Of Black Ink In White Milk.