I know all about the facts of life, and I don't think much of them.

Well, my paper has asked me to do a series: Lives of the Great Musicians, reading time 2 minutes.

The one Bach piece I learnt made me feel I was being repeatedly hit on the head with a teaspoon.

I could hear rain still pouring from the gutters and a thin branch scraping against one of the windows; but the church seemed completely cut off from the restless day outside--just as I felt cut off from the church. I thought: I am a restlessness inside a stillness inside a restlessness.

Ah, but you're the insidious type--Jane Eyre with of touch of Becky Sharp. A thoroughly dangerous girl.

I have really sinned. I am going to pause now, and sit here on the mound repenting in deepest shame.

Cruel blows of fate call for extreme kindness in the family circle.