There is no answer. It's okay. But even if it wasn't okay, what am I supposed to do?

Dreams, you know, are what you wake up from.

Happiness. It comes on unexpectedly. And goes beyond, really, any early morning talk about it.

Nights without beginning that had no end. Talking about a past as if it'd really happened. Telling themselves that this time next year, this time next year, things were going to be different.

there isn't enough of anything as long as we live. But at intervals a sweetness appears and, given a chance prevails.

Booze takes a lot of time and effort if you're going to do a good job with it.

It's akin to style, what I'm talking about, but it isn't style alone. It is the writer's particular and unmistakable signature on everything he writes. It is his world and no other. This is one of the things that distinguishes one writer from another. Not talent. There's plenty of that around. But a writer who has some special way of looking at things and who gives artistic expression to that way of looking: that writer may be around for a time.