There Is No Easy Way

...you Know That A Good, Long Session Of Weeping Can Often Make You Feel Better, Even If Your Circumstances Have Not Changed One Bit.

If You Feel . . . That Well-read People Are Less Likely To Be Evil, And A World Full Of People Sitting Quietly With Good Books In Their Hands Is Preferable To World Filled With Schisms And Sirens And Other Noisy And Troublesome Things, Then Every Time You Enter A Library You Might Say To Yourself, 'the World Is Quiet Here,' As A Sort Of Pledge Proclaiming Reading To Be The Greater Good.

Stop Saying No Offense,” I Said, “when You Say Offensive Things. It’s Not A Free Pass.

I’m Not A Romantic, I’m A Half-wit. Only Stupid People Would Think I’m Smart. I’m Not Something Anyone Should Know. I’m A Lunatic Wandering Around For Scraps, I’m Like Every Single Miserable Moron I’ve Scorned And Pretended I Didn’t Recognize. I’m All Of Them, Every Last Ugly Thing In A Bad Last-minute Costume. I’m Not Different, Not At All, Not Different From Any Other Speck Of A Thing. I’m A Blemished Blemish, A Ruined Ruin, A Stained Wreck So Failed I Can’t See What I Used To Be.

If You Have Ever Had A Miserable Experience, Then You Have Probably Had It Said To You That You Would Feel Better In The Morning. This, Of Course, Is Utter Nonsense, Because A Miserable Experience Remains A Miserable Experience Even On The Loveliest Of Morning.