I felt rather exhausted, and wondered, rather shocked at my callous thought, why old people were sometimes such a strain. Worse than young children or puppies because one had to be polite.

When one is writing a novel in the first person, one must be that person.

He was like someone sleeping who woke suddenly and found the world...all the beauty of it, and the sadness too. The hunger and the thirst. Everything he had never thought about or known was there before him, and magnified into one person who by chance, or fate--call it what you will--happened to be me.

She knew that this was happiness, this was living as she had always wished to live.

I felt rather exhausted, and wondered, rather shocked at my callous thought, why old people were sometimes such a strain. Worse than young children or puppies because one had to be polite.

From the very first, I knew that it would be so...I smiled to myself, and said, "That -- and none other.

The point is, life has to be endured, and lived. But how to live it is the problem.