I am too nervous to eat pie.

In the beginning, when I was trying to write, I couldnt turn off the outside world to the extent that I can now.

All this, all of this love we're talking about, it would just be a memory. Maybe not even a memory. Am I wrong? Am I way off base? Because I want you to set me straight if you think I'm wrong. I want to know. I mean, I don't know anything, and I'm the first one to admit it.

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.

My heart is broken,” she goes. “It’s turned to a piece of stone. I’m no good. That’s what’s as bad as anything, that I’m no good anymore.

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

There's literary creation and literary business. When I first got something accepted, it gave my life a validation it didn't otherwise have.