I am rather saddened at the end of a book. I think most writers find this. It's like a friend departing on a voyage.

She knows the rituals, she knows how we're supposed to be behaving...But I think these things are impenetrable and fraudulent, and I can't do them without feeling I'm acting.

he might die for her, but living for her would be quite different.

Publishing a book is like stuffing a note into a bottle and hurling it into the sea. Some bottles drown, some come safe to land, where the notes are read and then possibly cherished, or else misinterpreted, or else understood all too well by those who hate the message. You never know who your readers might be.

There are some virtues to not saying what you think all the time.

Thy only authentic ending is the one provided here: John and Mary die, John and Mary die, John and Mary die.

Once upon a time, novelists of the 19th century, such as Charles Dickens, published in serial form.