I felt overstuffed and dull and disappointed, the way I always do the day after Christmas.

So many people are shut up tight inside themselves like boxes, yet they would open up, unfolding quite wonderfully, if only you were interested in them.

So you got rid of your astonishment that someone could write so much more dynamically than you. You stopped cherishing your aloneness and poetic differentness to your delicately flat little bosom. You said: she's to good to forget. How about making her a friend and competitor — you could learn alot from her. So you'll try. So maybe she'll laugh in your face. So maybe she'll beat you hollow in the end. So anyhow, you'll try, and maybe, possibly, she can stand you. Here's hoping!

I hate handing over money to people for doing what I could just as easily do myself, it makes me nervous.

She stared at her reflection in the glossed shop windows as if to make sure, moment by moment, that she continued to exist.

Perhaps when we find ourselves wanting everything, it is because we are dangerously close to wanting nothing.

I do not fear it: I have been there.