There seemed nothing so true as a yellow tree.
If one publishes, then one is creating a public record of Learning to Write.
I want to pretend there's such a thing as requited love. As the endurance of love.
For love to last, you had to have illusions or have no illusions at all. But you had to stick to one or the other. It was the switching back and forth that endangered things.
This is what happened in love. One of you cried a lot and then both of you grew sarcastic.
You know, as fiction writers, if our instincts are off, we can't pay our bills.