It's what I call the haute couture, high-end version of fear perfectionism. It's just fear in really good shoes. But it's still fear.

The thing I love about Dickens is the omniscient, omnipotent narrator, and the great confidence of the narrator, which marks 19th-century novelists in general and Dickens in particular.

This person had arrived, he had illuminated her, he had ensorcelled her with notions of miracle and beauty, he had both understood and misunderstood her, he had married her, he had broken her heart, he had looked upon her with those sad and hopeless eyes, he had accepted his banishment, and now he was gone. What a stark and stunning thing was life- that such a cataclysm can enter and depart so quickly, and leave such wreckage behind!

Well, just remember--all your misery will be waiting for you at the door upon your exit, should you care to pick it up again when you leave.

We're miserable because we think that we are mere individuals, alone with our fears and flaws and resentment and mortality.

Someone has to write all those stories: why not me?

Whatever this feeling is - this is what I have been praying for. And this is also what I have been praying to.