One Drop Of Hatred In

It Must Have Meant Something, Though, That At This Turn Of My Life I Grabbed Up A Book. Because It Was In Books That I Would Find, For The Next Few Years, My Lovers. They Were Men, Not Boys. They Were Self-possessed And Sardonic, With A Ferocious Streak In Them, Reserves Of Gloom.

It’s Just Life. You Can’t Beat Life.

She Was Learning, Quite Late, What Many People Around Her Appeared To Have Known Since Childhood That Life Can Be Perfectly Satisfying Without Major Achievements.

I Have Never Kept Diaries. I Just Remember A Lot And Am More Self-centered Than Most People.

She Would Live Now, Not Read.