Were most of your stars out? Were you busy writing your heart out?

You take somebody that cries their goddam eyes out over phoney stuff in the movies, and nine times out of ten they're mean bastards at heart.

For joy, apparently, it was all Franny could do to hold the phone, even with both hands.

Certain things, they should stay the way they are. You ought to be able to stick them in one of those big glass cases and just leave them alone.

People never notice anything.

But guilt is guilt. It doesn't go away. It can't be nullified. It can't even be fully understood, I'm certain - it's roots run too deep into private and long-standing karma. About the only thing that saves my neck when I get to feeling this way is that guilt is an imperfect form of knowledge. Just because it isn't perfect doesn't mean that it can't be used. The hard thing to do is to put it to practical use, before it gets around to paralyzing you.

It's partly true, too, but it isn't all true. People always think something's all true.