The Artistic Temperament Is Particularly

I Don't Want My Books To Exclude Anyone, But If They Have To, Then I Would Rather They Excluded The People Who Feel They Are Too Smart For Them!

I'd Stay There, Or Not, And I'd Eat, Or Not, And I'd Drink, Or Not, And Go Home, Or Not, And What I Did Or Didn't Do Wouldn't Matter To Anyone At All. And I Walked For Most Of The Day. Do People Get Sad On Holiday Sometimes? I Can Imagine They Do, Having All That Time To Think.

I Used To Believe, Although I Don't Now, That Growing And Growing Up Are Analogous, That Both Are Inevitable And Uncontrollable Processes. Now It Seems To Me That Growing Up Is Governed By The Will, That One Can Choose To Become An Adult, But Only At Given Moments. These Moments Come Along Fairly Infrequently -during Crises In Relationships, For Example, Or When One Has Been Given The Chance To Start Afresh Somewhere- And One Can Ignore Them Or Seize Them.

Love, It Turns Out, Is As Undemocratic As Money, So It Accumulates Around People Who Have Plenty Of It Already: The Sane, The Healthy, The Lovable.

I Burst Into Tears And I Cry And Cry Until It Feels As Though It Is Not Salt And Water Being Squeezed From My Eyes, But Blood.