Every great or even every very good writer makes the world over according to his own specifications.

Woke up this morning with a terrific urge to lie in bed all day and read. Fought against it for a minute. Then looked out the window at the rain. And gave over. Put myself entirely in the keep of this rainy morning. Would I live my life over again? Make the same unforgivable mistakes? Yes, given half a chance. Yes.

Isak Dinesen said that she wrote a little every day, without hope and without despair. I like that.

I dressed and went for a walk - determined not to return until I took in what Nature had to offer.

and did you get what you wanted from this life even so? i did.

Ralph also took some classes in philosophy and literature and felt himself on the brink of some kind of huge discovery about himself. But it never came.

I am too nervous to eat pie.